


Hissing to be Heard (Out of Breath to Scream)

by ifdragonscouldtalk



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Academy Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Humor, Bigotry & Prejudice, Cadet Spock (Star Trek), Feral Spock (Star Trek), Gaila & Spock Friendship, Genius James T. Kirk, Humor, Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock Friendship, M/M, McSpirk endgame, Pre-Relationship, Professor James T. Kirk, Rebel Spock (Star Trek), Role Reversal, Spock Has Feelings (Star Trek), Spock Has Issues (Star Trek), Spock is a Brat (Star Trek), Spock is a Little Shit (Star Trek), Spock is a Mess (Star Trek), Tags May Change, Xenophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24295750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifdragonscouldtalk/pseuds/ifdragonscouldtalk
Summary: The Vulcans called him feral, the Humans thought him strange, and he had a boiling need to prove everyone wrong and get the hell off of Vulcan, as far away from his father as he could get.He said he was leaving and got the reply "You always liked a little bit of adventure." The stars were the biggest adventure he could find, but that didn't mean he couldn't have some fun while he was learning how to get to them.2009 Role Reversal Academy AU where Spock is the rebel and Jim is the accomplished professor. Endeavors to update weekly (Wednesdays). Tags and ratings may change. Non-chapter updates ontumblr.
Relationships: Gaila & Spock, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy, James T. Kirk/Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 184
Kudos: 332





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm super excited to start on this journey with everyone! Folks from [tumblr](https://ifdragonscouldtalk.tumblr.com/) will know this as "spock is a feral bitch baby," I've been posting updates and questions there. If you like it, please consider checking it out, their encouragement is the reason I've been putting quite a bit of time and effort into this and I would love to see you there!

The bar was more crowded tonight than it usually was. Spock nursed his strawberry milkshake -- no use in alcohol when it wouldn’t do anything for him, and the bartender wouldn’t serve him chocolate -- as he studied the cadets around him surreptitiously. 

They must’ve been visiting Vulcan for some training, perhaps diplomatic relations or linguistics or some other such nonsense, but now it was approaching night and they had been released from their supervisors to enjoy the planet, and they had obviously come to the correct conclusion that the only way to “enjoy the planet” was to completely avoid any contact with the Vulcans themselves and to frequent the places of leisure at the port where they’d landed instead, half of them still in their Starfleet cadet reds, sweating in the heat despite the Human-catered AC. None of them paid Spock any mind, which was exactly how he liked it, his hair pushed back from his forehead and left curly to cover his ears, thick sweater and jeans and boots making him blend in sufficiently that even if anyone noticed, they would question whether he was truly a Vulcan. 

After all, Vulcans didn’t do bars, and they especially didn’t do bars in the spaceport frequented by aliens where the bartender still didn’t believe his perfectly accurate and legal ID to be real. 

It was good Spock wasn’t truly a Vulcan, he thought. 

He was glad his curls were natural -- it meant more time when he wanted to blend in while in the city, particularly since he had escaped from his father’s thumb and ceased the permanent straightening treatments, but it was far less effort when he wanted to stand out, or wanted to blend in here with the aliens. He tilted his head, catching the figure of a dark-skinned Human out of the corner of his eye who almost made the ugly cadet uniforms seem natural and fashionable as he tuned into the different conversations around the room, testing his control and patience as the noises pressed in around him. He flicked his medallion between his fingers, watching the edges glint in the dim light. 

“Hi,” she said, smiling at Jarvikk, and the bartender raised an eyebrow at her, smirking back. Spock found the easy expressions between the two of them curious, just like he always did. Jarvikk had been trying to teach him to smile for a year now, apparently to no success, as he still grimaced whenever Spock attempted it. “I’d like a Klavnian fire tea, two Budwiser classics if you’ve got them, two Cardassian sunrises...” She trailed off, apparently thinking, and Spock turned to study her more closely. 

“Try the Slusho,” he offered, and she jumped, glancing at him coolly. Good, she hadn’t noticed him then. Just as he wanted it. “Jarvikk named it such because, I quote, ‘it gets you slushed real fast.’ Not that I would know.” Jarvikk rolled his eyes. 

“I told you, kid, I’m not giving you anything until you’re legal.”

“I have been legal for several years, Jarv,” he sighed, and the woman studied him curiously before nodding.

“A Slusho,” she said. “And a shot of your worst Jack.” 

“That is quite a lot of alcohol for one woman,” he remarked, turning away to watch as Jarvikk prepared the drinks, always calmed by the methodical showmanship. He could feel her still watching him, sizing him up, wondering. What was a Vulcan doing here, engaging in small talk with her? Well, he always did get far too much enjoyment out of being an enigma, and it seemed she enjoyed a challenge. 

“I think I can handle it, jailbait,” she replied, and he didn’t know exactly what ‘jailbait’ meant but he was sure it was a tease. He raised a brow, looking at her from the corner of his eye. 

“I’m sure you can, cadet,” he said back. “Let me guess, top of her class? Popular? You spend more time studying than you let on, especially when you come out like this and then nurse one shot for the rest of the evening?” She glared at him and he smirked, flipping his medallion. “Yes, I know your type quite well. What are you studying?”

“Xenolinguistics,” she bit out, still glaring. Jarvikk made a motion with his hands, telling him to stop talking now, but Spock had never been good at doing what was good for him. 

“And what a prime place to be studying it, then.” Her shoulders relaxed slightly, obviously believing he meant the planet. He shattered that notion with a “You get a lot of practice deciphering language in a bar.” 

“What’s your issue?” 

He shrugged, something he had observed in many Humans before, and tried for his smile, knowing it worked as well as he expected by the strange grimace on her face -- sometimes he enjoyed the fact that he was alien to everyone he’d ever met. “I’m simply having fun.” He pocketed his medallion and shoved a credit chip towards Jarvikk, one he was sure would be returned to his pocket the next time he showed up, because the bartender seemed to have some sort of tender spot for him, and rose, the bar too crowded and loud for him now, the need to meditate pulsing on the edges of his mind, frayed. 

“This guy bothering you?” another cadet said as he came up next to the woman, glowering in an entirely unthreatening manner, and Spock had him pegged as a security cadet instantly. A noble endeavor, and one more likely than not to get the man killed. 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she said back, rolling her eyes, and Spock happened to think that he bothered her far less than this man. At least he gave her a puzzle to never be solved, something to keep her curious mind turning. 

“I’m sure you could handle quite a bit more than me,” he replied, and meant it as a compliment, but apparently the Humans didn’t take it so, if they way she glared and the man’s face turned red was any indication. 

“You should watch what you say around a lady, punk.” Spock raised a brow, pausing in his efforts to calculate the most efficient path to the door, and he could hear Jarvikk hissing behind him to shut up and walk away. Too bad Jarvikk knew him well enough to know he couldn’t with a challenge like that. 

He didn’t even bother to play dumb, not in the mood tonight, although the set up of watching words was almost too good to pass up. “Of course. My apologies, miss,” he said, staring the man straight in the eye and relishing in the increase of color saturation on his cheeks. Humans changed colors so easily. The man’s mouth gaped open but no sound came out, and the woman seemed begrudgingly amused, if he was interpreting her facial expressions correctly. He raised a brow, waiting, before turning to make his way to the exit, pressure beginning to build at his temples. 

“Hey,” the guy snarled, grabbing his arm, and Spock allowed himself to be turned, regarding him coldly. “Apologize, stupid hick!” Spock tilted his head. He didn’t know what a hick was, but he was sure it was a negative colloquialism. 

“I believe I did, missy,” he replied with a grin, enjoying the startled expression when his teeth glinted in the low lights of the bar and the shock of anger in his eyes when his own colloquialism was processed. “Perhaps you should get your ears checked.” 

“Hey, just walk away,” the woman hissed, her nails digging into the other cadet’s arm. He shrugged her off, his hand tightening on Spock’s arm, as if it were supposed to threaten him. 

“Since you apparently can’t count, buddy, there are four of us, and one of you.” Spock lazily dragged his eyes over the three other cadets surrounding Missy, hoping it conveyed his lack of fear well enough for the unobservant cannon-fodder. 

“Indeed. And you apparently cannot see, as you fail to notice I am a Vulcan.” He casually brushed his free hand through his hair, tucking his curls behind one pointed ear, and noted with satisfaction as five pairs of eyes zeroed in on the appendage. “I suggest you unhand me, Missy.” 

Missy apparently had no sense of self-preservation, because his face darkened another shade as he reared back to throw what would have been an impressive left hook, had it connected. Spock easily broke the hold on his arm and ducked instead, unimpressed. “Hey, walk away!” the female cadet was shouting, trying to force her way between the two of them. “Just walk away!” 

“You should listen to her,” Jarvikk said, phone already in hand to call port authority, but his mouth had the grim line to it that meant he was sure there was going to be damage done to his bar this evening. Spock raised a brow and Jarv shook his head with a sigh, longsuffering. “You don’t want to go against him, man.”

“I’m not scared of him,” Missy snarled. “Vulcans are pacifists.”

“Ah, so your brain does in fact retain information,” Spock remarked, and dodged another punch with a calm step to the side. “If you are going for security, you must be doing a rather poor job in your training. Would you like me to give you some pointers?” 

“Fuck you!” Missy said as he stepped forward to jab at his stomach. He stepped back, slowly looking Missy up and down, an action he had observed many times in the bar. 

“You could not satisfy me,” he replied, once again turning to leave, not in the mood for a physical altercation tonight. It was easy to dodge the tipsy punches and kicks the four misguided cadets sent his way, although those around him fared far worse, and soon it was transforming around him into a true barroom brawl, shouting and screaming and smashed glass. Missy continued to pursue him through the crowd, but the man was clumsy in his anger, and Spock had nearly reached the doors when the two older men stepped through, one in Starfleet uniform, both taking in the scene calmly before letting out matching sharp whistles. Spock restrained his instinctive flinch from the piercing noise, studying the two as the room fell quiet and still around him, stepping aside when Missy lunged at him from behind to land at the men’s feet. 

“And what in the sam-hell is going on here?” the man not in uniform said, voice loud as he crossed his arms over his chest, glowering at the cadets. The cadets shifted silently on their feet, music switched off, presumably by Jarvikk as he prepared for port authority to take statements, spilled liquid dripping onto the floor. The man’s gaze swept over the bar disapprovingly before coming to rest on Spock, giving him a thorough once-over. Spock allowed it, standing calmly, even though he and Jarvikk both knew he needed to be out of the bar before the authorities arrived. “You ain’t a cadet.”

“I see Starfleet continues to hire the best and brightest,” he replied sarcastically, enjoying the deep glare it earned him. The man in uniform stared down at Missy as he clambered to his feet, face still red and body still singing with tension, saluting at his senior officers shakily. 

“You start this, son?” the man asked, and Spock took in the pin on his lapel and stripes on his wrist -- a captain, apparently, but not good enough to actually captain, stuck instructing the next generation of ‘best and brightest’. Missy clenched his jaw, letting out a hard breath through his nose. Spock raised a brow at the silence. 

“You may go ahead and blame me, Missy. I would hate for you to receive a demerit for being unable to control your own emotions.” Missy shot a harsh glare over his shoulder and Spock met his gaze evenly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’re only Human, after all.” 

“He was saying sh- things such as that, sir. Xenophobic, it is. Being real rude to Miss Uhura.” 

“She’s a cadet, Missy,” Spock deadpanned. “Not a ‘miss’.” 

“So you thought, let me get this straight, that it was a bright idea to start a fight with a Vulcan in a Vulcan bar?” the non-uniformed man drawled, eyes piercing the cadet. 

“Not much fighting occurred,” Spock offered before stepping forward to pass between him and the captain to the doors. “He missed, several times.” 

“Don’t fucking walk away!” Missy snarled, and Spock paused, turning to tilt his head. 

“Or what? You will find me and make me pay? I would certainly enjoy seeing you try, especially when the captain here puts you on a short leash for the rest of your short stay, like the shelat you are.” 

“Okay,” the captain said harshly, shooting him a look he couldn’t interpret. “A mouthy Vulcan. That’s new.” He didn’t dignify that with a response, the pressure at his temples building. 

“Get out of here, Spock, before you cause more damn trouble,” Jarvikk called from across the room, scowling at him, but he could tell there was no anger. Spock bowed sarcastically before finally pushing through the doors, hearing the captain call something about statements and damages. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Amanda would be disappointed in you, Spock,” the captain said, and a snarl worked its way unbidden out of his throat as the pressure at his temples exploded into a headache.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter I rewrote three times, so please let me know what you think about how it turned out! Updates and snippets are on my tumblr, feel free to come talk to me!

It didn’t take five minutes to hear footsteps pursuing him through the spaceport. He continued to walk calmly, hands shoved in his pockets, glancing in the reflective surfaces around him to take in the captain following him, the other man close on his heels. Apparently following him was more important than keeping their cadets in line on a planet where being out of line could very well get them into a large amount of trouble. 

“Cease following me,” he said when he determined they were close enough to hear him. 

“I’d just like to talk, Spock,” the captain said, and his defenses raised at a stranger using his name so familiarly. 

“I do not,” he replied coldly, keeping his pace even. “I have nothing to say, save that your cadets clearly need more diplomatic training.” 

“I know your father.” 

A harsh laugh escaped Spock, and he watched the two men startle and glance at each other in the window next to him. “Everyone knows my father. I am unsurprised, nor do I care.” 

“I knew your mother.” He paused in his steps, half turning in the bright lights of the port to glare at the captain out of the corner of his eye. 

“Cease following me and speaking to me, now.” His voice was cold and harsh, and the other man grimaced, taking half a step back. “I have absolutely nothing to say to you, Starfleet.” 

“You don’t like Starfleet?” the other man asked, rocking on his heels. Spock didn’t bother answering, turning away again. 

“Amanda would be disappointed in you, Spock,” the captain said, and a snarl worked its way unbidden out of his throat as the pressure at his temples exploded into a headache. He turned, pressing the captain against the nearest wall with one fist at his throat, noting with relish that he had more than a few inches over the man, drinking in the spark of fear. 

“I believe I told you to shut the fuck up, Captain, or I will make you. Unlike your cadets, I have ways to make you stop bothering me quite easily. You may know Sarek and Amanda, but do not make the mistake of believing you know anything about me. If I hear my mother’s name from your lips again, I shall not restrain myself simply because you are Starfleet.” The captain wisely stayed silent, meeting his eyes calmly, and Spock admired that at least. Not many would look a raging Vulcan in the eye. “Mother has no say in my life, seeing as she is dead, which you have clearly forgotten, and you, whom I have never met, certainly don’t have the right to put thoughts to her memory.” He released him, stepping back with a glare. “I care not what you want or whom you know. Cease following me.” 

The other man was studying him as the captain stepped away from him and rubbed his throat, unimpressed but wary. “I know your type,” he said, and Spock didn’t bother to resist rolling his eyes as his own words from earlier mocked him. 

“Please,” he said, “keep talking.” 

“Thanks, I will.” He raised a brow, turning away from the captain now to the other Human. He was wearing jeans, boots, and a leather jacket, a poor choice of clothing on Vulcan. He smirked at him, arms folded behind his back, and Spock crossed his own arms in return. “Ain’t going to say nothing about your mother -- nah, you know well enough what she’d think of you, I suspect, good or bad.” Spock grit his teeth but held back his snarl this time, watching the captain out of the corner of his eye. These men wanted something from him, and he couldn’t be sure he wasn’t playing right into it. “‘Sides, I don’t know who the fuck you are, and I don’t right care. Don’t know who Sarek is either.” 

Now he was intrigued, stepping back against the wall so at the very least he couldn’t be attacked from behind, watching the man warily. He didn’t move, save for rocking on his heels, and the captain seemed perfectly happy to let him speak. “But I can bet he’s your daddy. Some big hotshot? Thought you would follow in his footsteps? But you, you’re a rebel, bet you get that from your momma. No, you figured you’d be perfectly happy if everyone could forget about you and let you get on livin’. But they couldn’t do that, ‘cause of who your daddy is. Everyone wanted you to be just like him, so you decided to be the opposite, huh? Make a name for yourself that had nothing to do with him?” 

“You are about to cross the threshold of my patience,” he said through gritted teeth, unsure if he walked away whether they would follow him or not. The man shrugged. 

“I think you’ve got more of that then you let on.” He didn’t let his surprise that he had been so summarily read show, pressure pulsing behind his eyes as his headache only continued to pound. “I told you, I know your type. All you really wanted was for people to shut up. That growling and posturing, that’s all for show. That’s not who you are, huh, Spock?” 

“I tire of hearing your drivel,” he said, putting effort into making his voice calm, proving the man right as his hands clenched into fists and hating it, wanting the confrontation to end so he could go home and huddle next to his fire in meditation. 

“Naw,” the man said, smiling easily, and Spock couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath at the genuine kindness he saw there, concern for him. No one had ever been concerned for him in that manner. “Really, you’re a good boy, aren’t you? You just want to be left alone, but since that’s not possible, you’re gonna cause as big a scene as you can.” 

“What gives you that impression?” he said, and his voice was not as steady as he wanted. 

“You didn’t hit anyone,” was the easy reply. “You could’ve. Could’ve easily taken Hendorff out, not even hurt him. You could’ve also walked away, but he was in your territory, after all, messin’ with your image, so you let him mess up his own a bit. I bet you calculate every move you make, every word spoken. There could’ve been blood on the floor, back there, instead of beer. Our cadets would’ve been no match for you.” 

“Vulcans are pacifists.”

“Something tells me you don’t well like being reminded that.” Spock took a deep breath, his heart beating hard in his side. “You’re just a pacifist because you don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“You don’t know me,” he snarled, hating the fear that was building in him. No one had ever read him like this, no one had ever cared to. 

“No, I don’t know you, Spock, but I might like to. There’s easier ways to get us to stop dogging you than just scaring us a bit. If you’d really wanted to hurt anyone, Pike wouldn’t be standing right now.” The captain, Pike apparently, grunted, some self-satisfied little smile on his face, and Spock was ready to bolt at that, squeezing his eyes shut against the nauseous throbbing in his skull, feeling cornered. 

“What do you want?” he hissed, bristling because he didn’t want them to know he was scared, like a wild shelat cornered by a le-matya. 

“Told you, I don’t want a damn thing from you.” Spock opened his eyes to see the captain frown, and swallowed, wondering exactly how high a rank the other man was. It felt like the air was too thick to breathe. “I just think that there’s a better way to get back at everyone.”

“What would you know?” It came out a whisper and he hated it, feeling exposed in the too bright lights of the port, the corridors abandoned due to the lateness. 

“I know you’re damned smart, and I bet you’re damned strong too. I know you want to get off this damned planet. I know you like a challenge.” The man raised a brow, and that was challenge enough for Spock to step forward, drawing himself up tall. 

“Are you going to offer me one?”

“No Vulcan has ever attended Starfleet.” The answer stopped Spock short, watching them both warily. So that was what this was about. “Best way to stick it to your dad is to do what no other Vulcan is willing to do. Best way to prove yourself to everyone else is to do it the best. Fastest anyone’s ever gone through the Academy is three years, but I bet you could do it in two.” 

He would’ve been lying if he said the offer wasn’t alluring. But Captain Pike was still standing there with a smug little smile, and Spock had already risen to enough of their bait. They were just like everyone else, wanting him to be a pawn in their game, not realizing that he was already the queen of his own. It would have to be quite an offer for him to give up his strategy and downgrade his available movements. “And what do you get out of this?” He met the man’s eye more steadily than he felt, knowing they were sizing each other up but not sure what exactly to make of it yet. “I know what Starfleet wants of me. What do  _ you _ get?” 

“Me?” the man drawled, a smirk on his lips and a brow raised. “Well, I get two years to figure out the best way to annoy the shit out of a Vulcan. I think I’ve got a pretty good head start already.” 

“Fascinating,” Spock replied, and for the first time in quite awhile the sentiment was a true one. “Who are you to Starfleet?” 

“To Starfleet? Doctor Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant, supposedly an expert on xenobiology.” Spock wondered if the Humans could discern his shoulders tensing, wariness solidifying into hatred. A doctor, of course he was a doctor, who else would take interest in him? Then McCoy smiled, crossing his arms, and it looked like a challenge. “To you? I’m the asshole that just convinced you to enroll in Starfleet.” Spock narrowed his eyes, chafing at the confidence that he had been won over by one argument and disliking that it was unfortunately close to the truth. He’d never seriously considered Starfleet before, but if all the individuals there were as interesting as the few he'd met tonight, he would at least be entertained, if not intellectually stimulated. 

“You know nothing of me, Doctor?” he asked, because he needed to confirm. It was almost too good to be true, a doctor, especially with a specialty in xenobiology, knowing nothing about the life-destroying hybrid on Vulcan. McCoy just frowned. 

“Should I?” Spock hummed in non-committal answer, glancing at Pike. The captain certainly knew him, but any captain who let their lieutenant speak such was another interesting figure that he could do with keeping close, if only so he knew when not to turn his back. 

“Is the Academy prepared for a Vulcan?” It was a valid question. Vulcans had vastly different needs than Humans, and the Academy was based on Terra and attended mostly by Humans. No Vulcan had ever attended the Academy for various reasons, and the lack of comfort on Terra was certainly one of them. 

McCoy shrugged, a smirk tugging his lips. “I think we’ll be able to work something out.” That certainly could have its perks. The first Vulcan at the Academy, he would not only set the precedent for how any unlikely future enrollments would be treated, but he could adjust his own treatment. It would definitely be nice to pick and choose who got access to him medically. There was a whole other concern, though, one that was far more serious than any accommodations. He folded his arms behind his back, considering the two carefully.

“And how, exactly, am I expected to pay for this?” McCoy’s frown deepened, glancing at Pike. 

“I was under the impression that you were some hot-shot ambassador’s son.” 

It made sense that the Humans wouldn’t know, but it still struck something raw within Spock, making him clench his hands together behind his back, trying to shove away the building throbbing behind his ears. He had needed to meditate before this encounter started, and now he was facing a lengthier session than he had anticipated with all the new information to consider. “A misguided impression. My father is Sarek, but Ambassador Sarek has no son.” His voice was flat, emotionless, and to him it felt like weakness.

“Cost won’t be an issue,” Pike interrupted, the first time he’d spoken since Spock had told him to shut up, apparently confident in the truth of his statement. It was true that having a Vulcan enrolled would create a certain credence around Starfleet that it currently didn’t have, and they would likely do anything to ensure his enrollment given an indication he was considering it. Spock hummed again, studying the two for another long moment before finally turning away, having enough of excitement and confrontation for the evening. 

“I shall meditate on it,” he said, and almost hated that it was true. 

“We’re leaving-”

“I know when you are departing,” he interrupted the captain, and that was a habit he would have to break himself of if he wanted to enroll. He wasn’t quite sure why they were so desperate to recruit him specifically, particularly after he had catalyzed a fight with their cadets in a bar. Pike hadn’t even recognized him until he heard his name. Still, what McCoy had offered was enticing, and he had been looking to get off the planet, it was true. The opportunity to further his education formally was certainly part of the allure, as was the chance to study other cultures, particularly Human culture, more closely, and a future studying the stars. 

A future in the stars. 

It wasn’t something Spock had ever considered, not really. He had felt trapped his whole life, everything just out of reach, and space was no exception. He thought perhaps one day he would make it out there, but never in a lucrative position to study them, and certainly never with Starfleet. But now excitement was lacing through his chest, wondering what sorts of things he could discover, what kind of people he could speak to, in only two short years. 

“You will have my decision when you depart.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I did some research,” he said casually. “Hybrid, huh?” 
> 
> “I am surprised you had not heard of me earlier,” Spock replied, and his voice was distinctly tense. 
> 
> “Oh, I had. I knew there was a Vulcan-Human hybrid knocking around over here, I just didn’t bother to learn their name. They seemed to be healthy enough, so beyond that, what did I care? It was the basics of the birth that was revolutionary, not them.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for missing last week's update. I said so on tumblr, but I'm taking a 5 week summer class that started last week and it has been a great deal of work, which set me behind on writing chapters for this work. It is still coming out, and I believe I'll be able to make next week's update, but until July I may have to put anything else on hold. Thank you for your patience and understanding! Again, please follow me on tumblr for more updates and let me know what you think of this chapter!!

Meditation had taken up a great portion of the night and some parts of the early morning. Packing had taken a comparatively meager amount of time, locating the few scattered items tucked into the corners of the cavern he had been living out of since he had run away from his father’s home and carefully placing them in the flimsy backpack he had bought. The bag was full, most of the items clothes, his mother’s medallion tucked into his palm as he erased the traces of his fire. 

“I believe I am leaving, Jarvikk.” 

The bar was much quieter this evening, the cadets likely having been given a curfew. The glass had been swept and the floors mopped of alcohol; there had been comparatively little damage considering some of the fights Spock had witnessed. It seemed wherever he went he was a catalyst for disaster. 

Jarvikk slid a plate of greasy food that he didn’t bother to ask the name of across the counter, his credit chip from the night before tucked under the edge, and placed a glass of water next to it before meeting his eye. “That’s good, isn’t it? You’ve been looking to get out of this place forever.” 

It was good, he supposed, even if it inspired a melancholic feeling within him. Perhaps Jarvikk was his only friend on Vulcan, but he was a good friend at that, and Spock would have no way to stay in contact with him once he left the planet, his communicator having been deactivated once he left his father’s home. He began to eat instead of answering, glancing at the various patrons of the evening, aliens passing through the port on the way to their next stop and Humans visiting for fun. 

“Vulcan is all I have ever known,” he said when Jarvikk continued to watch him. The Zenul shrugged, two of his arms busily cleaning the bar, even though it was already clean. 

“You’re almost 23, and you’ve been on your own for a couple years. It’s high time you learn something new, I think. Maybe you’ll get hurt, and maybe you won’t, but at least you won’t be here.” Spock nodded before frowning. 

“You do believe my ID.” Jarvikk grinned, chuckling. 

“I wouldn’t have let you in the bar if I didn’t. C’mon, kid, you never really wanted chocolate or alcohol from me anyway.” Spock rolled his eyes, which only made Jarvikk grin wider. “Where are you planning on going?”

“I got an offer from Starfleet.” Jarvikk twitched his nose and hummed quietly. 

“I thought you didn’t like them. Something about them being nothing more than a military organization with designs on influencing new life and new civilizations?”

“My mind has been unchanged on those matters, but I was given some lucrative reasons to enroll, and the best way to change a system is to do it from within.” 

“Well, I’ll miss you but I won’t be sorry to see you go. I always figured you’d leave for a bigger adventure than you kept talking about, and the stars seem like the biggest one you could find.” 

“I am not going for adventure, I am going for academia, and to get away from Vulcan,” Spock sighed, but Jarvikk just smiled at him. 

“C’mon Spock, you know you don’t have to hide from me. You always liked a little bit of adventure,” he said as he turned to take the order of the Bajoran who had taken a seat at the other end of the bar, leaving Spock with no opportunity for rebuttal. 

There was very little about Vulcan or the space port in particular that he anticipated to miss, but Jarvikk was something he would miss quite terribly when he left. 

It was a bit unnerving to be surrounded by staring Humans in bright red uniforms while he had brushed his hair down and worn his best robe, clenching his fist tightly around the strap of his thin backpack. The space port was busy during the day, and he didn’t need any more help standing out when he was going to be boarding a Starfleet shuttle, especially when he wasn’t even enrolled yet. It was unlikely anyone would cause him trouble, but there were a few who would try should they see him, and there was no need to make finding him easier for them. The edges of his medallion dug into his palm where he held it, surveying the Humans calmly as he stood along the edges of their group. 

He would not admit to startling when McCoy spoke too close behind him, “Fancy seeing you here.” The smug grin that greeted him when he turned felt soothing more than raw as they once again sized each other up, like they were trying to decipher something unattainable in the other. 

“I hear your cadets managed to stay out of any more trouble,” he said, and McCoy snorted. 

“I don’t claim responsibility for any of these kids. My 8 year old is better behaved.” A father, but when Spock glanced down at his hands there was no traditional ring to symbolize a Human marriage. That didn’t necessarily mean much, but the guarded expression in McCoy’s eyes when he looked back up, familiar from his own face, did, and he silently grieved with the man. 

“Are you not their chaperone?” he asked instead of acknowledging what they both knew, raising a brow. 

“Technically?” McCoy smirked, shrugging. “I got a couple’a interns and we wanted to check out the experiments being done at the VSA using gene memory and antibody pooling.” Spock couldn’t help the small twitch of surprise, his fingers tightening without his order around the edges of his medallion. 

“And they allowed you and your cadets to observe the experiments?” His voice was carefully modulated, more carefully than it had been since the day he had decided to throw the Vulcan way in the dust and beg his father to love him. McCoy frowned a bit, scratching his head. 

“Well, yeah?” The VSA had a notoriously terrible reputation for being xenophobic, especially against Humans -- Spock would know -- so McCoy and his cadets being allowed to observe the experiements meant that either McCoy or Pike had a great deal of influence or a singularly incredible mind. McCoy shrugged again. “I guess it helped that I wrote the paper they’re basing the gene memory testing on.” Spock’s hand tightened further, the edge of his medallion digging harshly into his palm, a sharp pain. McCoy was an incredibly skilled xenobiologist then, more than just a “supposed expert” as he had stated last night. Which made it all the more surprising that the doctor didn’t know Spock at all. 

His distrust must’ve shown in the tightness of his shoulders, despite his efforts to be neutral, because McCoy stepped closer, staring at him almost in challenge. “I did some research,” he said casually. “Hybrid, huh?” 

“I am surprised you had not heard of me earlier,” Spock replied, and his voice was distinctly tense. 

“Oh, I had. I knew there was a Vulcan-Human hybrid knocking around over here, I just didn’t bother to learn their name. They seemed to be healthy enough, so beyond that, what did I care? It was the basics of the birth that was revolutionary, not them.” 

Surprise made Spock’s muscles loosen, blinking at the doctor as he raised a brow in challenge. How should he react to being ruthlessly deemed not special, after a life of being told he was exceptional? “Indeed?” was what he chose, raising his brow in return, eyes narrowed. 

“Only thing that was surprising to me, when I caught up on more recent research,” McCoy drawled, and Spock’s shoulders tensed again as he remembered the ‘recent research,’ “was the lack of any psychological profile.” 

“I believe you have taken too many Human psychology classes, Doctor, and think too highly of psychoanalysis.” Spock stepped back, hating that McCoy’s psychoanalyses of him had, so far, been frighteningly accurate. 

“Spock,” McCoy said lowly, taking another step forward to close the distance he had created, glancing at the cadets surrounding them as if any of them were listening in, “I understand why you might hate doctors. Hell, I don’t like a great deal of doctors, and I am one. But if you’re going to do this, Starfleet requires regular checkups, quarterly. Not to mention the fact that Vulcans are secretive about their biology and yours can’t even be categorized as Vulcan, and any CMO is going to need to know a great deal about you to be able to treat you when an idiot like yourself gets beaten to hell and back for some dumbass stunt.” 

Spock once again stepped back, sizing McCoy up once more before crossing his arms. “Then you may do my examinations, Doctor. You are presumably the most qualified to do so, after all.” McCoy’s eyes widened and he stepped back, throwing his arms wide as his voice raised in volume. 

“Oh hell no! I did not sign up for that, I’m not some damn personal physician!” 

“Starfleet wants me, Doctor,” Spock teased, voice light. “I am under the impression they would do a great deal to keep me.” 

McCoy threw his hands in the air, muttering something about Pike and Jim and assholes as he stormed away, and Spock was left alone once more in a sea of red. His lingering apprehension had faded, and suddenly he found the stares and mutters as he allowed himself to be carried with the cadets as they finally boarded the shuttle far more bearable than previously. He glanced over his shoulders at the door to the shuttle, taking in the sight of red sands and city stretching before him for one last instant before promising himself he would never see it again and stepping inside with the Humans who were soon to be his peers, if all went well. 

He was surprised no one stopped him as he boarded, ignoring the blatant staring and mutters around him, cataloguing the Humans as they filed into seats in an apparently specified but to him unknown order and resisting the urge to run a hand through his hair. He spotted McCoy in the corner of the shuttle, near the small restroom facilities, red in the face as he apparently made a very pointed argument to Captain Pike, who was sighing and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He caught “and a flying  _ deathtrap! _ ” before the sound of movement and muttering drowned out his voice again, and he didn’t bother to attempt to focus and listen in, instead scanning for a free seat as far from the two as he could get, intending to relish in the last few hours of true freedom he would have until his commission with Starfleet was satisfied. 

His eyes landed on an Orion woman, her cadet reds clashing unfortunately with her complexion, focused intently on her PADD as the men passing her shamelessly stared in a way that made Spock roll his eyes. Humans truly had one-track minds. 

To her one side was a Human woman, engrossed in a conversation with another cadet, and on the other side was an empty chair that several male cadets were eyeing as they whispered to each other. Spock saw her hand tremble slightly as she brushed a strawberry-red curl that had escaped the tight braid down her back behind her ear, glimpsing her eyes as they darted up to take in the cadets before flashing back down to her PADD. Harrassment was apparently still quite common in Starfleet, and he wondered if the chaperones sitting across the shuttle even recognized how xenophobic the cadets’ actions were. A hot flash of anger made his fingers tingle, and he snuck between the cadets crowding for seats to claim the empty one next to the Orion before the oogling men could decide which one of them would make a move. 

He was greeted with a surprised but genuine grin, bright and relieved. “Oh, hello!” she said, giving a soft wave with her fingers as she lowered her PADD slightly. “Are you planning on enrolling?” 

“Greetings,” he replied, allowing a twitching of his own lips in return. “Indeed, I am. I give you my name: Spock.” She blinked, her smile growing, and Spock was pleased that she seemed to recognize the intimacy of the formality. 

“I thank you and give you mine in return: Gaila.” He was inordinately pleased at her return of the ritual, blinking slowly at her in a traditional Orion greeting. She flushed in happiness, eyes sparkling as she returned it, eyelashes fluttering. “It’s nice to meet you, Spock!” 

“I find myself pleased to have made your acquaintance as well, Gaila. May I inquire as to what you are working on?” He glanced down at her PADD, letting the corner of his mouth twitch up in a private smile at her, and she lit up, her whole body animating. He was pleased that the tension had left her. 

“I’ve been puzzling through this code, it’s an assignment meant to be implemented as a shuttle-test searching for bugs or corruption in the original coding, but I keep getting thrown to a blockchain error. I’m not sure what I did wrong.” Spock furrowed his brows, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his medallion. 

“That is a rather complicated application,” he said slowly. “A code-sifting code is highly subject to interference as well.” Gaila sighed, nodding, apparently conceding his point. 

“It’s an extra credit assignment from this Professor who is still two decades behind on technology and hates me in particular.” Spock’s lips twitched down into a frown. This did not reflect particularly well on Starfleet as an educational institution. Gaila shrugged, tucking her PADD back into her bag. “I’ll figure it out tonight once I can get away from all this distraction.” Spock glanced around the shuttle, crowded with speaking cadets, and acquiesced that this was a particularly poor place to attempt work. “So what could tempt a Vulcan into joining Starfleet?” 

Spock raised a brow, meeting her curious gaze evenly. “What could tempt an Orion?” he replied instead of answering, and she smiled again but didn’t answer.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He supposed he should have felt something, approaching his other planet, the planet of his mother. He had expected to feel something. His father had once called him a child of two worlds, but looking at Terra now and feeling nothing, he wondered if he belonged to either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey yall! Thanks to everyone who wished we well on my class and my health -- I'm doing much better now and I passed my class! Hopefully I'll be able to crank out this story for yall before the next semester starts. For now, here's this. It's a bit of a filler chapter, and I'm not entirely satisfied with it, but it also has a bit of insight into some of Spock and Gaila's traumas. (And sorry for all you Pike lovers -- I promise he's not really a bastard!! He just sticks his foot in his mouth a lot! He'll get better!)
> 
> Let me know what you think!! :D

“You know, you’ll be the first Vulcan to attend the Academy.” Spock raised a brow, amused, and she grinned at him easily. Around them, the cadets were whispering to each other, like it was shameful to speak, the engines the loudest sound in the shuttle aside from their own two voices. 

“I am aware,” he replied, and Gaila giggled. “I was unaware there were any Orions in attendance, either.”

“I’m the first,” she said proudly, her spine straightening. “Stick with me and I’ll show you how to play the admins right into our hands. They’ve got no clue what to do with us!” He let his lips twitch up and nodded. 

“I shall gratefully accept your expertise,” he teased, and she laughed again. “I am sure acceptance was not easy,” he said cautiously, knowing there was still a great stigma around the Orions on Terra, and her smile dimmed slightly. “You must be quite intelligent then, and anything I learn from you shall no doubt be exceptionally clever.” 

“You flirt.” She rolled her eyes, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Spock, especially with Humans.” 

“My first lesson, Miss Gaila? Yet I make no attempt to flatter you. Flattery is illogical. I only speak the truth.” Her laughter was loud in the quiet of the shuttle, drawing eyes from the other cadets, and he was finding it more and more difficult to hold in a smile. 

“Oh yes, Mister Spock, and I am sure you are the most eminently logical of all Vulcans,” she chuckled, laying a hand on his clothed arm. 

“Obviously,” he deadpanned, glancing down at her hand. He could just barely feel the brush of her emotions against his shields, warm and foreign but indistinguishable. She pulled her hand away quickly, her eyes widening. 

“I’m so sorry, I know better than to touch a Vulcan, this is why I did so poorly in diplomacy, I just forget-”

“It is of no consequence,” he interrupted, shaking his head indulgently. “Just as you understand the culture around touching on Vulcan, I understand the culture around touching on Orion. I am gratified you find me safe and dear enough to touch so casually, and you are certainly free to do so as long as it is through clothing and you do not mind me picking up your surface emotions.” She beamed and let her hand fall against his arm again, her touch a calming balm against his frayed mind. 

The shuttle bay of the passenger ship which would carry them to Terra was bustling with activity and aliens, and Spock struggled to keep his curiosity off his face. The cadets were released for the next five hours, and on the sixth hour they would arrive within the Terran space dock and be shuttled to the space port in San Francisco near the Academy. Gaila and he ducked away from the shuttle quickly, abandoning their Human peers and avoiding any attempts from McCoy or Pike to speak to him before they could even approach. “Humans are so weird,” Gaila said as she dragged him through the ship, her hand in the loose fabric of his sleeve, presumably to keep him from getting lost, however illogical it was. “They put commercial areas on their transport ships, just like their shopping malls on Terra. But they are nice places to try new foods and find exotic goods, since any trader can rent out space on the ships and sell their fares.” 

“Interesting,” he said as the turbolift opened onto a floor in the middle of the ship, crowded and loud with people. “What is the purpose of these shops?”

“Just to keep them entertained while they’re in transport.” 

“They spend money for amusement?” Gaila looked at him and nodded, an amused smile on her face. 

“Weird isn’t it? I can think of far more interesting ways to pass the time.” She winked and he fought to keep a blush off his face, knowing flirting was as much Orion culture as it was Human. 

“I believe most Vulcans would simply take the time to meditate, or perhaps study.” 

“Like I said, Humans are weird. Still, shopping can be fun! They do this thing called ‘window-shopping’ where they spend hours in stores looking at wares and never buy anything.” 

“That is highly illogical.”

“Right?” She laughed, pulling him over to a stand that appeared to be selling Andorian cuisine, although he had never tried any Andorian himself. He found himself curious as to whether they had anything palatable for a Vulcan. “But it does mean that it’s easy to share a meal and get to know each other better.” He allowed a twitch of his lips as she finally released his robe, crossing his arms since his backpack was on his back. 

“I am afraid I do not have any credits, and I do not know much about Andorian cuisine.” Gaila waved his concerns off with an easy smile. 

“No problem, my treat. I’m sure you’ll like it. The  _ y’latic _ is vegan.” 

He let Gaila order for them, thanking her as they gathered their food and searched for an empty bench on the edges of the crowd. It was pleasant, savoring the new flavors and watching the various beings going about their business, far more diverse than the spaceport on Vulcan ever was, Gaila content to let them sit in silence as they ate in the Vulcan tradition. 

The tentative peace only lasted as long as they took to eat. Spock turned away from the recycling unit to see a Gaila glaring at a Human cadet, arms crossed in a defensive posture as he towered over her and leaned into her personal space. 

“Go away, Tyler,” she scoffed as he reclaimed his seat next to her, glaring at the cadet coolly. Tyler seemed unperturbed, baring his teeth in what he thought was a rather threatening manner. 

“What, us lowly Humans couldn’t satisfy a bitch like you anymore so you thought you’d seduce a Vulcan?” 

“Excuse me?” Gaila snarled, and Spock clenched his hands into fists. “First of all, that’s not only insensitive to me, but to Spock too, and second, your pithy little four inches are cute, but hardly worth my time.” 

“What’s going on here?” Spock bit his inner lip at Pike’s voice, looking over to see the Captain standing with his arms crossed, staring at Gaila and him with a longsuffering expression. Tyler smirked, crossing his arms in imitation of the older man, and rage was hot along the base of Spock’s spine, but not hotter than Gaila’s where her hand accidentally brushed against his. 

Gaila’s cheeks flushed a deep blue as she stood, fists clenched, and glared at her commanding officer. Spock stood with her, unsure whether he would have to keep her from attacking her captain or not. “It’s very xenophobic that you automatically assume the two non-Humans did something, Captain,” she spat. “We didn’t do anything, Tyler came and bothered us.” 

“Maybe if you weren’t such a slut he wouldn’t assume it was your fault,” Tyler said with an eye roll. 

_ Your mother was a slut and your father is a tratorious whore! _

Spock stepped forward, very calmly, and broke Tyler’s nose, remembering only at the last second to check his strength in order not to accidentally kill the Terran. Tyler let out a rather emasculating scream, stumbling back and clutching his nose. “Apologies,” he said blankly, staring down at the red blood on his knuckles, looking unreal, like paint. “I tripped. I suggest you do not say such things about Cadet Vro again; I am rather clumsy.” Gaila let out a tiny, hysterical giggle behind him, her hands covering her mouth. He looked at Pike, who was rubbing his forehead like he was seriously reconsidering his career choice. 

“Spock,” he said slowly, “you can’t just punch other cadets.”

“Hm,” Spock considered, stepping away from Tyler as the man continued to blubber, refusing to meet his eye. “Well, as I am not yet a cadet, and I felt quite threatened, I believe I have a right to defend myself and my companion.” Pike let out a heavy sigh, apparently deciding against attempting to argue logic with a Vulcan. 

“Cadet Matthis, go find McCoy so he can fix your nose. I’ll be arranging a meeting with your advisor -- this is the second incidence of xenophobia on this trip alone, and we have a no-tolerance policy. Get out of here.” Pike considered Spock once more, and Spock allowed it for a moment before turning away, pressing a soft hand to Gaila’s shoulder. 

“Come, Gaila, let us find somewhere quieter. I believe I have had my fill of shopping.” Gaila nodded, her eyes suspiciously wet, reaching out to clutch his sleeve in one shaking hand. 

“Spock, I need to talk to you,” Pike called, and he clenched his jaw, pulling at his well of control to keep from glaring at the insensitive captain. 

“Unless you order me to stop, I am going to care for my friend, now, Captain. I suggest you evaluate your own insensitive viewpoints before you attempt to speak to me or Cadet Vro again. Cadet Vro is far kinder than I, and will tolerate more than I would allow.” 

Pike didn’t stop them as they walked away. 

“Gaila,” he started hesitantly once they were away from the crowd, wandering through a service corridor, hearing her breath catch intermittently, “are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” she said, and her voice held a distinctly teary quality as she looked up at him, rubbing a tear from her flushed cheek. “Sorry, it’s just- I realized no one had ever stood up for me before.” Spock swallowed, allowing himself to feel the surprise and warmth that had flooded him when Gaila had defended them against Pike. 

“No one has ever ‘stood up’ for me either,” he told her quietly. “It would appear we must protect each other.” She nodded, a wet laugh escaping. 

“Yeah. Yeah, seems like we should.” 

There was an observation room on either side of the ship, small and dark and abandoned, and he and Gaila had found themselves in one as they approached Terra, long hours spent in the silence. Nothing needed to be said. Neither Orions or Vulcans really had an understanding of Human “acquaintances”; they were friends, now, and there was nothing else to be said for it. Anything necessary could be discovered later. Now was a time to settle, alone, before they were faced with the reality of being alone in the world again, the only Vulcan and Orion in Starfleet. 

“Look, there it is.” Gaila broke the silence, standing and pressing her hands to the transparent aluminum as the ship shuddered out of warp to cruise at impulse. Spock stood with her, staring at the planet as it slowly grew bigger before them, watching the various satellites and space docks with small ships swarming around it, Terra’s natural satellite dwarfing them all. It was remarkably blue, shimmering in the light of its star. 

He supposed he should have felt something, approaching his other planet, the planet of his mother. He had expected to feel something. His father had once called him a child of two worlds, but looking at Terra now and feeling nothing, he wondered if he belonged to either. It wasn’t home. He turned his gaze upward instead, took in the view of the Milky Way from this planet, stretching purple and endless in the void above them, and swallowed at the sight of its beauty. Gaila glanced at him, her eyes reflecting the stars as well, the vastness of everything stretching silent around them, enveloping them in its chill, welcoming them into the unknown quiet. 

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Gaila said softly. Neither of them were looking at the Earth.

“Indeed,” he said quietly, and allowed her to reach out and hold his wrist, preparing for the moment when they would have to rejoin their peers -- however much the Humans could be considered their peers. 

“Two years,” she whispered, like she was afraid to break something with her voice. 

“Two years,” he repeated. It was a promise. They had no way of knowing where they would end up once they graduated, but for two years, on a planet that was so unlike either of their homes, they would at least have each other. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do I do, Mother?” he asked into the air, eyes tightly closed as his thoughts swirled too much to meditate on. “What have I done? Has this been the right choice? Has anything been?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the absence. There was some stuff happening in my life and online that made it very uncomfortable for me to even consider interacting with Star Trek for awhile, but I came back to read all your lovely comments and realized that I do want to still tell this story, so it's happening! Maybe not as fast as expected, though; I'm currently in my senior year of college and struggling through chronic health issues, so I'll do my best to stay on regular schedule but that might not happen.  
> Please mind that I'll be updating the tags and title soon, because I've made some decisions about what I want to happen in this fic that I didn't have when I originally started posting. It'll still be recognizable, hopefully, but it'll be changing from spirk to mcspirk, so if you really dislike that please stop reading now! If not, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Jim is sliding in here now!  
> Love you all!

Pike had managed to corner him as they’d gotten off the shuttle at San Francisco space station with a long-suffering “Follow me” and a borderline glare. Gaila had given him a smile and waved him off, so he had followed the Captain, disliking him more with every step, all the way to his office. He sat in the chair Pike gestured to, forcing himself not to tense, not to show any trepidation. Pike smiled at him, a weak but genuine thing, exhaustion in the lines around his eyes. 

“Right, as of now, Spock, you’re considered a Starfleet cadet, which means you’re beholden to our rules and regulations.” He shook his head, but he seemed more amused than anything, a small smile still playing on his lips, “So no more punching people, please. We have a strict policy against violence and xenophobia, so if anyone gives you a problem, come to me.” 

Spock nodded stiffly. It was unlikely he would ever go to Pike if he had problems -- he could handle himself well, even without any violence, but he would let the Captain think otherwise. Pike sighed again, seeming to understand that was the best acceptance he would get, and reached out to hand him a PADD. 

“Fill out that paperwork for me, please, and we can start to actually process you into the system.” 

And with that he turned to his own console and began to work, leaving Spock to fill out the requested information to the best of his ability. 

The application work took a little under a standard hour, and Spock quietly laid it on Pike’s desk when he was done, watching the man glance up and move to save his own work before taking the PADD back. He gave it little more than a cursory examination before giving Spock a smile that was a little less exhausted and a little more genuine. 

“Alright then,” he said. “I’ve set up your entrance exams for the next week. They’ll start tomorrow. They’re so we can place you in the right class levels, since education isn’t standard across the galaxy. I expect you’ll test out a lot of the lower and mid-level classes. Once you’ve finished the set of exams, however many you’ll need to take, you’ll be able to choose your fields of focus.” Spock nodded, again staying silent; there wasn’t really anything he could add. The situation seemed logical to him. “You’ll get some messages from Student Accommodations, Residence Life, Academic Advising, and Financial Aid sometime today, so keep your PADD nearby. I’m sure Accommodations will be able to provide you a commissioned comm unit while you’re a student so we can get in easier contact with you.” Another nod. “Until then, just prepare for your tests. I’ll send you the schedule and subjects later today, so take it easy and familiarize yourself with campus if you’d like.” He got a stern look, his lips tilted up in a teasing grin. “And don’t start any fights, please.” 

“Understood,” he said, hand tightening around the strap of his backpack where it sat next to his chair. 

It was illogical that the impact of what he had decided was just now hitting him, when he was already waist-deep in commitment, but he’d found that emotion rarely followed logic. He’d done it. He’d run away from home and signed up for Starfleet. He wondered if his Father was still waiting for him to see logic and come home, begging for his assistance. He wondered if his rebellion would ever mean anything, or if it was simply a gesture and his whole life would be wasted here at Starfleet. 

Pike nodded at him, and that was that. He knew a dismissal when he saw one. 

It did nothing to diminish the unease or excitement growing in equal parts in his chest. 

Residence Life, as Pike had called it, had not contacted Spock by the time the library closed at midnight. 

Apparently the library closed so early to force the students to go to bed -- it used to close at 0200 local time, but they’d had a great number of students falling asleep in their books or not leaving until the library closed, and the administration had determined that unhealthy. There were apparently discussions about closing the library even earlier. Spock saw the logic in the decision, as he knew Humans had some difficulty taking care of their own health at times. All this he was told by a very enthusiastic research assistant as she helped him learn the library system so he could begin studying for his subject tests. 

This left him in the position of standing outside the library in the dark, humid San Francisco chill, considering where he could safely spend the night. He knew of Terra, knew there were criminals, Humans without logic, everywhere, knew it wouldn’t be safe for him to find an alley to meditate in as it had been those first few weeks he was alone on Vulcan. He could feel exhaustion creeping in on him; Vulcans didn’t need as much sleep as Humans did, but he was not fully Vulcan, and he had gotten used to sleeping regularly during the darkened hours. It would be necessary to find somewhere he could rest, or his performance tomorrow on the tests could suffer, and he needed his performance to be better than optimal if he were to test out of as many classes as possible. He’d been given a challenge, after all, and a four year specialty schooling in two years would be no small feat, even for him. 

He clenched the straps of his backpack tightly, his medallion feeling heavy in his pocket as a sudden exhaustion swept over him, shaking him to his boots. 

“I’m here, Mother,” he whispered into the air, tilting his face up into the breeze to look towards the stars, hidden by clouds. “I’ve made it. Would you be proud of me? Disappointed? Would you hate that I could not care for father, or hate that he could not care for me? Are you pleased I have come home? Did you consider this your home?” 

The questions were meaningless and illogical. 

He breathed them out anyway, the dust on the wind filling his lungs with rich oxygen, enough to make him feel lightheaded and high. He slowed his breathing, reduced his lung capacity forcibly, and felt his head start to clear. Even if he was half-Human, he was clearly not made for this environment, for this world, any more than he had been made for Vulcan, sweating heavily where his peers did not, straightening his hair where his peers didn’t have to. 

He turned away from the library and began to walk. The campus was dark, dimly lit, but the ambient light pollution from the city around him allowed him to see the path he trod, even if he did not know where it would lead him. The buildings were looming, unfamiliar, chilly in their disregard for him, and he glanced down to check his knife was still tucked into his boot, worn and hidden. He had almost expected Starfleet to find it and confiscate it, on the shuttle, but they hadn’t cared to check, and he hadn’t told them he had it. It was there in its sheath, ready to protect him even if it would never draw blood, and he felt comforted by it in a way the father who had given it to him could never replicate. 

He didn’t relish the thought of wandering campus all night. He knew where the science labs were; his tests would be taking place in that building, on a monitored terminal, at least the theoretical portions. He headed there and found the doors locked, but it took very little effort to hack the lock and open the door before locking it again -- precautionary, then, or lazy. 

Something crawled along his skin. Maybe the itch of the unknown, anticipation and fear in one, or maybe the cold humidity in the air, or the feeling of loneliness that he so ruthlessly crushed within him. He wished to wash it off, but a sink was all he had, locking the bathroom door carefully behind him and disregarding the lights in case someone decided to patrol the building. He changed in the pitch black, comforted by the familiarity of the darkness, ran water through his hair and felt it curl damply around his ears once more, easing and familiar now in a way it had once been jarring and uncomfortable, another symptom of his otherness. His tunic and pants were Human enough, but warm in the Terran air, his stiff faux leather jacket on top an adequate armor, already scarred with marks. 

He needed to meditate, but there was no time now. It was late, and his tests began early. He left the bathroom and wandered the halls -- there, a corner with padded seating, probably for cadets to study in. He laid down, curling into himself in a way he hadn’t when he had still pretended to be a Vulcan, not needing the warmth or protection that his knees pressed against his stomach provided. He rested his hand on his boot, near his knife’s handle, where it could be easily retrieved, and stilled his thoughts with a breath, slipping into a light sleep. 

“Ay, are you supposed to be here?” 

The accented voice startled him out of sleep, and he forced himself not to grab his knife in the light, eyes snapping open as he sat up quickly, staring up at the Human who had spoken warily. He stared back at him evenly, blinking at his abrupt movement, a coffee clutched in hand and a pastry bag tucked under his arm. Spock took in the short hair and dark eyes, the black instructor uniform he wore wrinkled, dark bruises under his eyes. Some sort of high authority, he decided, although he couldn’t see a rank insignia, clenching the strap of his backpack in his hand tightly should the authority attempt to remove it from him. 

“I am a cadet,” he said evenly, not truly an answer to the question, and the man snorted, apparently amused. 

“You’re out of uniform, Cadet,” he said, and Spock got the impression he was being teased. 

“Indeed,” he replied, glancing down at his own clothes. 

“Who are you, then? Think I’d remember a Vulcan around here.”

“I am called Spock.” 

“You are, huh? That your name?”

“Affirmative.”

“Well that’d be why you’re called that, then.”

“Indeed.” 

“Why are you here, Spock?” The question gave him pause. He got the impression the man was not asking him why he was here in the building. He swallowed, trying to decide if he could trust this stranger or not. More likely than not, he would never meet this man again -- Starfleet was a large organization, after all. 

“I’m running,” he said quietly, something compelling him to be truthful. Maybe the desire for companionship, for Human compassion and sympathy. The man raised a brow thoughtfully. 

“Aren’t we all?” The man sighed, rubbing his chin with his free hand. “Well, Spock, best get out of here, then. Classes will be starting soon, and you don’t want to be caught out of uniform. Some instructors are right assholes about that.” 

Spock nodded and stood quickly, but refrained from departing, something in him hesitating. 

“Your defense systems of this building are quite poor.” 

“Tell me something I don’t know,” the man said with a roll of his eyes. “I’ve been trying to tell them for years that our locks need updating, especially considering this is where the research and engineering labs are housed, but do they ever listen to little old Scotty? No.” Scotty glanced up and down, quirking a smile. “Besides, having unlimited access to my work when I’m not supposed to has its perks.” He winked before turning away, throwing a hand up in a wave. “I get a feeling I’ll be seeing you around, Cadet, whenever you stop running. Careful with that knife in your boot, now.” 

Spock considered the illogical words. Humans, he had found so far, were surprisingly perceptive, and he wasn’t entirely sure whether he appreciated that. Grudging respect had grown in him, along with a jealousy that they could so easily know others without the touch of a mind, and he wondered if he could learn to do similarly, or if he would forever be trapped within himself, alone to touch. He turned to find his testing lab. 

The tests were arduous and long but not especially difficult; in fact they were almost insulting in some of their simplicities. His second night found him again with no contact from Residence Life and minimal understanding of how to contact them himself, and so he found a different corner of the science building and meditated for much of the evening, sleeping a scant few hours and waking well before first light to freshen himself and make his way out onto the campus in order not to raise suspicion at being caught twice. His third night found him exhausted and frustrated, wishing for the comfort of a home he’d never had to ease the emotions that arose as letters and numbers swam around his screen, making testing difficult. He had no way to contact Captain Pike, no way to find Gaila, and by the time his testing was over, no way to contact Residence Life about his quarters. A new bench was found and he sat, hungry, regret swimming over him. 

Had this been the right choice? At least on Vulcan he could rely on himself, could rely on the logic of others to see him alive through the nights and days. Now he could not even afford a meal, much less trust anyone around him. 

“What do I do, Mother?” he asked into the air, eyes tightly closed as his thoughts swirled too much to meditate on. “What have I done? Has this been the right choice? Has anything been?” 

He had fallen into sleep unexpectedly, and woke to a hand on his shoulder, barely restraining himself from attacking in defense, eyes snapping open but burning with exhaustion, limbs weak with hunger. He could survive longer without food, but he didn’t appreciate it. Concerned blue eyes stared back at him, shocking in their brightness, and it took him a moment longer before he could turn his gaze on the rest of the Human before him, the crisp instructor blacks and full messenger bag which could hide anything. Despite himself, he did not distrust this man, or feel anything but weary and alone. 

“Hey,” the man said softly, voice kind, and it made Spock swallow hard, looking away, “sorry to wake you, but they’re about to close up the building. It’s late. Why are you here?” 

“I am a cadet,” he replied, as was his customary response to the question these past few days. The man frowned. 

“You aren’t in uniform.” 

Once again, something compelled him to respond truthfully, and he looked back at the man. “I do not have one.” The frown deepened, eyebrows furrowing. 

“Why don’t you have one?”

“My testing has not yet been completed, and I have not yet been provided residence accommodations.” The frown turned into a deep scowl as the man stepped back, and Spock hadn’t realized how much he’d enjoyed the warmth of the other’s hand until he was bereft of it. 

“You don’t have a room? Do you have a meal card?” 

“I do not.”

“How long have you been here?” He stared at the man, at his anger, but felt nothing but relaxed in his presence. Spock had always felt he was a responsible judge of character, but never had he felt no need to hide parts of himself. This man, he thought, would accept all of him, if he gave it. 

He wouldn’t, though. 

“This is the conclusion of my third day,” he answered. The man swore vehemently, and Spock felt his shoulders tense against his will. His meditation had not been as successful as it needed to be, recently. The man relaxed again, a slight frown still furrowing his eyebrows. 

“C’mon, then,” he said after a moment, gesturing for him to rise. “I’ve got a spare couch you can sleep on, and it’ll at least be more comfortable than here. Plus, Bones made dinner. I’m sure there’ll be something a Vulcan can eat.” 

I shouldn’t trust him, Spock thought, but rose anyway to follow, weary of Terra, weary of Humans, weary of loneliness and deep hunger that had nothing to do with a lack of physical nourishment. The instructor smiled at him, a small quirk of the lips. 

“I’m Jim.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oo ein’n ave oo rea in oo ee me,” he said around the buzzing, and Spock blinked at him, sitting up slowly. 
> 
> “I did not understand any of that,” he said after a moment, and watched cautiously as McCoy rolled his eyes before heading into the kitchen, spitting into the sink before drinking from the tap and spitting again. 
> 
> “I said you didn’t need to break in to see me, you can just make an appointment for your physical.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to the lovely athena-mcgonagall for helping me out of a funk in this chapter! next chapter -- shit starts to go down ovo I'm so excited!! there's some soft mckirk in this chapter that i actually really enjoyed writing (I've never written that ship before, how exciting!) but the story is going to mainly focus on spock's interactions with them individually so no worries! 
> 
> please please PLEASE leave a comment and let me know what you're thinking! i love any and all interaction on this and it makes me so damn happy to see you guys. anyway, enjoy this chapter! (and thank you for the well wishes on the last one!)

Jim lived in a comfortable apartment slightly off-campus with a roommate he called Bones. Bones was not awake when Jim let them in, although they had left the soft lights on in the kitchen, along with a note that dinner was in the fresher, if Jim wanted something that was fresh and not replicated. Dinner turned out to be pasta, which Jim ate cold out of the container but warmed up a plate for Spock. 

Spock had never tasted anything like it. 

He was too hungry to savor it completely, doing his best to at least retain some measure of grace in the eyes of the Human who was watching him so closely. A commander, according to his rank insignia, and he could believe it. Jim radiated a sort of power and soft confidence that would serve well in higher positions of authority; but it was also the kind of power and influence that would make others who were not as naturally predisposed towards leading all the more ravenous to hold on to the positions they had clawed their ways up to, a threatening kind of confidence. The same kind that Spock had seen in Pike, although Pike’s had grated on him where Jim’s did not. 

He didn’t bother attempting to refuse when Jim gently pushed him to the couch after their meal, fetching him a soft t-shirt and sleepwear he called sweatpants which were slightly too short for him, along with a blanket and a pillow. Spock changed in the bathroom before collapsing onto the furniture, no longer caring if it were safe or not but trusting that it was. He heard Jim order the lights in the kitchen off before he fell asleep, deeply. 

Spock woke up still tired and disoriented, and did not feel less disoriented as he took in Doctor Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant, supposed expert in xenobiology, where he was standing above him, apparently cleansing his teeth. He was wearing a worn t-shirt and flannel pants printed with what looked to be Terran fruits, his hygiene implement buzzing in his mouth as he studied him. 

“Oo ein’n ave oo rea in oo ee me,” he said around the buzzing, and Spock blinked at him, sitting up slowly. 

“I did not understand any of that,” he said after a moment, and watched cautiously as McCoy rolled his eyes before heading into the kitchen, spitting into the sink before drinking from the tap and spitting again. 

“I said you didn’t need to break in to see me, you can just make an appointment for your physical.” 

“I did not break in. You are Bones?” he asked warily after a hesitant moment of consideration, and McCoy sighed, shaking his head. 

“Of course Jim let you in. Why are you here?” 

Spock didn’t like the look in McCoy’s eyes, calculating and wary, didn’t like that he unfortunately trusted the man and that trust apparently didn’t go both ways, and he stood abruptly, backpack in hand. “Jim was assisting me in something. It was an error for me to spend the night. I shall leave.” 

He wondered why he ever thought he could find someplace to stay in the first place.

“Hey, wait, Spock-” The bathroom door closing cut off McCoy’s protests. He changed by rote, the frayed edges of his mind pulsing against each other as he attempted to shove back those emotions which always overwhelmed him, which he’d never been able to meditate away, folding the borrowed pajamas carefully and leaving them on the sink. 

His clothes seemed to itch against his skin the same way the atmosphere of Terra did, too wet, uncomfortable and unwelcoming. When he looked in the mirror, he didn’t recognize himself. Stubble had gathered on his jaw and his curls hung limply, eyes dark and heavy and tired, full of some emotion he’d never been able to name. He looked like a Human vagrant, or a Vulcan outcast. 

He restrained the urge to break the mirror and turned away. 

There were sounds of breakfast from the kitchen, soft and warm in the grey early morning in a way he’d never experienced before. Jim was awake, wrapped around McCoy as the Doctor broke eggs into a pan, pressing sleepy Human kisses into his jaw and mumbling into his ear. Spock felt like an intruder, something cold sitting on the back of his tongue, and he swallowed it, silently making his way to the door. 

He didn’t want to linger here, in this warm place. He might become too comfortable to run. 

“Why’s that Vulcan here, Jim?” he heard McCoy ask, a soft mumble. 

“He needed some help,” Jim replied, voice groggy and warm. 

“More help than we can give,” McCoy snorted. “What happened?” 

“Bones-” The door closing behind him shut off the sound of Jim’s reply. 

It seemed too final of an abandonment to bear.

It was a misty San Francisco morning. San Francisco seemed to always be misty -- wet and cold. It lingered on Spock’s skin, sticky, wet his face and hair. He licked his lips dry of it and tilted his face up to the clouds, standing out in the middle of campus. From here, he knew, when the sun was out and the air was clear the famous Golden Gate Bridge was visible, although he questioned why it was called golden, as it clearly appeared red in color. 

One night’s sleep had not erased his exhaustion. It seemed bone deep. He had not seen the stars in three nights. He wished to see them again, to remind himself why it was worth it to be here. 

“Are you lost?” someone asked from behind him, cautious. He turned to them, watched Cadet Uhura’s face morph from something open and caring to something wary and hesitant. Sometimes he hated that he was alien to everyone he’d ever met. “What are you doing here?” 

“I do not know,” he replied honestly, before he could shove the words back in. He turned back to the sky, closing his eyes as raindrops fell upon his skin. It never rained this much on Vulcan. “What are any of us doing here?” 

“Are you constantly cryptic?”

“I have been so far.” He heard her hesitate before she approached, standing next to him and staring up at the sky beside him. “How do Humans bear it, Cadet Uhura?” he asked, because he thought at the very least, she would be honest with him. She looked at him, and he turned to look back. She considered the question, a momentary pause, and Earth seemed too silent for the instant. 

“Bear what?” she asked curiously. 

“Being alone all the time. Not knowing the answers. Not knowing why we are here.” She tilted her head, hair swishing behind her. “Vulcans bear it through logic, but logic is not enough for me, right now. I do not know that it has ever been enough. Why am I here?” he repeated her question, thinking of the sour feeling that settled in his heart when McCoy had said he was too lost to try and save. 

“I don’t know,” she echoed back, frowning at him. “I guess the only way we bear it is the best we can. We search for answers when we’re able, reach for people when we’re alone. Sometimes, logic fails, and all that’s left is... is what we make.” He sighed, turning back towards the water where the Golden Gate Bridge hid in the mist, and felt her still considering him, her gaze burning into the side of his head. “Are you lonely, Spock?” 

“Were you lonely, before we came to greet you?” he answered. “Before the galaxy reached out its hand towards you and you reached back? Were you lonely of searching and bearing the mysteries?” 

“I suppose so,” she said after a second. “I never knew Vulcans had a tendency towards poetics.”

“Vulcans have tendencies towards many things they do not show.” She was silent for a moment, and the sound of the mist hissing off the buildings and trees washed over him, calming and unfamiliar. 

“Would you shake my hand, if I reached out?” she asked softly, and he turned to her again, taking in the earnestness of her gaze. “Would you allow me to show you what it means to know why you’re here?”

“Is anyone able to show another their place in the universe?” She frowned, considering again. 

“Would you allow me to accompany you as we attempt to know why we’re here?” she amended, and he almost smiled at her. 

“What shall we do if we never know?”

“I don’t know. But we won’t be lonely.” 

The smile escaped him, wry and melancholic, and Uhura didn’t grimace. He savored in the grin she gave back, and no longer felt the mist was as unforgiving as before. 

Jim did not look pleased. 

Spock wasn’t the best at interpreting Human expressions and body language, but he believed a tense frown and crossed arms were somewhat universal for Vulcanoid beings as an expression of displeasure. “Commander,” he managed not to sigh, falling into a tense parade rest where Jim had found him leaving his examination room. 

“You left this morning,” Jim said with a scowl. “Why?”

“Doctor McCoy-”

“Bones was  _ joking _ , Spock,” Jim sighed. “I invited you in. He wasn’t kicking you out. Why didn’t you tell him what was going on?” Spock’s hands clenched into fists behind his back, something frayed at the edges of his mind. 

“It was not any of his concern, nor is it yours, Commander.”

“Jim, please. I’m not acting as a commander right now, just someone who wants to help.” Spock dipped his head in acknowledgement but didn’t correct himself. Jim sighed again, uncrossing his arms and running a tired hand over his jaw. “Bones told me what’s going on with you, as much as he knows, which isn’t much.” He paused, as if waiting for Spock to say something, but he had found the past few days that it  _ hurt _ to be honest, hurt to bare himself in such a way, and so he said nothing. Jim shook his head and continued. “Listen, I got everything sorted out for you. You should have an email now about your room -- a private one. It’s got everything you need in it. Chris didn’t forget about you, he’s on a classified mission right now, went out right after you all got back from Vulcan. I’m sorry admin let you slip through the cracks.” 

“No apology is necessary, Commander,” he said evenly, although he was grateful for the acknowledgement. Jim shook his head, some small smile on his lips, and Spock felt himself drawn to it. 

It scared him how much he craved the kindness these Humans offered so easily. 

It scared him how foolish he thought that kindness was, compared to the scorn he had always been offered by the Vulcans. 

“Would you come with me?” he asked earnestly. “I’ll show you to your room, but I’d really like to have dinner with you, Spock, to talk. Chris isn’t going to be back for a few days, and we need to discuss your class schedule. Plus, Bones thinks it’d be better to have your physical done privately, and it doesn’t need to be done in the MedCenter.” 

It scared him how easy it was to nod, how easy Jim smiled at him. 

It terrified him how easy it was to follow Jim mindlessly back to that warm apartment, the smell of cooking in the air making his stomach protest. 

Spock was hungry for something food couldn’t give him, a warmth different from the warmth of a meal settled in the stomach, and it permeated the air of Jim and McCoy’s apartment, enticing and harrowing. It made him want to sit down and stop for a moment, but he was afraid if he did he’d never get back up. 

Leonard McCoy smiled at him as he stood near the door, Jim going over to give the man a soft kiss and mutter something private in his ear before going to change. McCoy looked him over. 

“I didn’t think you could look more tired than you did the night we found you, kid,” he sighed, and Spock’s shoulders tensed, but he couldn’t help but step closer to that warmth when the Doctor beckoned him forward. “I’m sorry I upset you this morning. I didn’t mean to imply anything bad.” 

“It is of no consequence,” Spock replied, but his mouth was dry at the concern and warmth in McCoy’s eyes, the same warmth that had made him dive headfirst into adventure in the first place. He wanted more of it. 

He was afraid his desire would destroy him. 

“C’mon, kid. I made casserole.” 

There was little Spock could do except step forward, and then once more, until he was sat at Leonard and Jim’s table. It felt like a test, and he wanted to run away, but then Leonard smiled at him, and Jim came out of his bedroom dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, and he looked at the food set on the table and wondered if there was even something he was running away from, or whether he would recognize if he had found the thing he was running to.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one had ever cared to ask him why, what, how; he wondered, for a scary moment, whether he had truly come to Starfleet because of McCoy’s challenge, or because McCoy had offered him something he didn’t know how to take. 
> 
> He had never thought he would find himself talking about it, and certainly not to Starfleet, but he felt himself opening his mouth anyway, drawn in by the concern in McCoy’s eyes. “It is a long story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING FOR: MENTIONS AND DISCUSSIONS OF MEDICAL ABUSE/TRAUMA, NON-GRAPHIC AND NON-EXPLICIT. NO BLOOD OR SPECIFICS ARE GIVEN. ALSO MENTIONS OF CHILD NEGLECT.  
> Hey y'all! I was so so damn excited about this chapter! It's about 1k words over my usual chapter length, so I'm hoping you guys love it as much as I do. I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts. Next week is going to be our first intermission, with a chapter from Bones' POV. After that the story is going to start skipping through time a bit! There's going to be some slice of life episodes before we get into the meat of the plot in Spock's fourth semester, so I hope you're looking forward to that (also, let me know what lovely college au things you'd want me to write!!).

Spock’s first week on Terra had been long, obscenely so. He smoothed down his jacket again as his comm unit buzzed at his side, probably from Nyota or Gaila. He had learned after inquiring if Nyota could assist him in contacting Gaila that the two shared a dorm room. Now they both took every opportunity to message him. He stared at himself in the mirror, taking in the stiff cadet reds again before trailing his gaze up to his face. 

He didn’t recognize himself. 

He was completely clean-shaven for the first time since he’d run away, his curls were properly cared for and swept back out of his face, and his eyes held something anticipatory that seemed to banish their perpetual Human sadness. He looked like an upstanding Starfleet cadet, and not a rebel who had been given too many second chances. 

He resisted the urge to smile, not wanting to see himself bare his teeth, and turned away to message Gaila back. 

San Francisco was sunny today, but still too cold for his tastes, far better acclimated to the harsh near-wilderness of the outskirts of Shi’Khar. He was glad his new uniform included a thermal undershirt to keep away the cool air, although he wasn’t sure how he would fare once the months turned wintery. He felt somehow light in a way that he suspected didn’t have anything to do with the lighter gravity on Terra. Even his apprehension over his looming physical couldn’t douse his sudden spark of excitement at having finished his entrance examinations. 

“It’s the middle of the semester, so you’ll have to wait until winter to start your classes,” Commander Kirk had said to him yesterday after he congratulated him on his ‘obscenely perfect’ scores. 

“I can start this semester. I shall catch up,” he had said back, and Kirk had raised a brow but grinned brightly at him. 

He wasn’t currently enrolled in any classes; Captain Christopher Pike had apparently returned from his mission yesterday and Kirk had thought it best to speak with him before finalizing anything, so the Commander had arranged for them and Doctor McCoy to have dinner at their apartment once more, with Spock’s physical taking place before the meal. Spock could find no logical reason to refuse the arrangement. 

He viciously shoved down his impulse to run away from yet another medical test, and instead turned his face towards the sky to soak in the sun as he walked. He would savor this moment of peace as it lasted.

Kirk and McCoy’s bedroom was soft and warm and nothing like the white coldness he had come to associate with medicine. McCoy gestured to the bed as he locked the door behind them and Spock sat, wondering if the unease unfurling in his chest was so easily viewed by the Doctor who seemed able to peer straight into him. 

“Alright,” McCoy said as he rifled through a drawer next to the bed, “this shouldn’t take long at all, Cadet. Just have to ask you some standard questions, do a typical scan, get some baselines for you in case you ever do anything stupid.” Spock wasn’t sure his response was required, and he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to speak evenly as his anxiety rose like a tide, inexorable, so he simply nodded and firmly kept his eyes on McCoy’s when the Doctor turned, tricorder in hand. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered as he flicked on the device, and Spock couldn’t help his gaze from drifting towards it as it started to whir, coming closer to him as it worked, insensitive to the fact that he had nothing more to tell it, nothing more to give to it to prove he was a Vulcan.

“ _Kroikah_ ,” he croaked, bubbling up in his throat without his permission, their blank stares and raised eyebrows meeting him as he blinked at McCoy. He took a shuddering breath, glancing to the side where he had nearly flung the tricorder out of McCoy’s hands by shoving it away, and dropped his own hands back into his lap. McCoy lowered the tricorder as well, watching him carefully, one eyebrow raised in inquiry. “Apologies, Doctor,” he said, trying to swallow down the hoarseness of his voice. “A momentary lapse in control. You may continue.” McCoy frowned, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I may not be fluent in Vulcan, but I know the word stop, Spock, as well as I know a trauma response when I see it.” McCoy eyed him, placing the tricorder upon the bedside table and pulling the desk chair over so he could sit in front of him. “This is more than just a dislike of doctors. You reacted to the tricorder like it’s a trigger for you. That doesn’t happen randomly. Talk.” 

Spock felt his hackles rise automatically, sensing a tenuous sort of danger, the kind that came with vulnerability, but they fell just as quickly, exhaustion threading down his spine. Heat simmered in his gut, that hunger for something Human, and he was drawn to the fire but afraid to step into the flames. McCoy only looked at him, gaze firm and undemanding, careful, ready to accept whatever he had to say. No one had ever looked at him like that. No one had ever cared to ask him why, what, how; he wondered, for a scary moment, whether he had truly come to Starfleet because of McCoy’s challenge, or because McCoy had offered him something he didn’t know how to take. 

He had never thought he would find himself talking about it, and certainly not to Starfleet, but he felt himself opening his mouth anyway, drawn in by the concern in McCoy’s eyes. “It is a long story.” 

“I got time,” McCoy replied softly. 

Spock felt numb, staring out the window over McCoy’s shoulder into the sunlight, so different here from Vulcan. He swallowed thickly, trying to meet McCoy’s gaze, but his skin burned with the emotions there, too much for him when he felt so flayed. “You know the circumstances of my birth, Doctor.” McCoy nodded, and Spock felt himself nodding with him.

Once, many years ago, S’chn T’gai Sarek and Amanda Grayson had loved each other very much. So much that they had wanted to prove their love with a child of both of them. A child which took over twenty xenobiologists and countless geneticists to conceive. Some band of longing squeezed at Spock’s heart as he thought of his mother, a perpetual thorn in his side that never truly went away. “I was the first successful Vulcan-Human hybrid. Every aspect of my birth and development was studied, recorded, and analyzed. It was not expected for me to live past my first birthday, particularly after my mother...” He couldn’t say it, closed his eyes against the onslaught of truth that bombarded him. _You killed her!_ “My very existence is highly experimental, data to be collected.” 

Something like anger flashed in McCoy’s eyes at that, but he seemed to sense that if he stopped he wouldn’t be able to start again, and held his tongue. The sunlight shimmered outside, distant and cold and foreign. His own body felt foreign to him. The warmth the light had given him earlier was gone. “I visited the doctor every year, but scientists visited me more often than that, taking their scans of me, writing their papers. My father found no logical reason to refuse their pursuit of knowledge. If there ever were another successful hybrid, I was told, my data could be relevant in assisting them. I was a child, and didn’t understand. These visits lessened as I grew older and my development continued to match that of a typical Vulcan.” 

His gaze traced over to McCoy’s and down again, unable to stand the emotion in the Human’s eyes, hating that he didn’t know well enough to interpret what it meant, staring at the carpet that lined McCoy and Kirk’s bedroom. “I used to hide when I was sick, to avoid the tests, the comments and the papers and the news. To avoid being told I was not Vulcan enough, once again, because Vulcans do not get sick as often as I. It was illogical to hide such a thing, yet I did, another reminder of my heritage, my shame.” McCoy’s fists clenched in his periphery, and he steadied himself, focusing on his own heartbeat. 

“Of course, there are tests you cannot run on a child.” He looked up as McCoy’s hands pressed into his thighs like he was searching for control, watching the rise and fall of the Human’s chest as he breathed. “When I was 17 years aged, it was determined that I had the capability to understand and consent to tests which would have been psychologically damaging to a child due to their inability to grasp the logic in them. They told me the data gathered from the tests would be useful to future hybrids, to determine their limits and gauge expectations of their abilities in life.” He deepened his breathing, trying to match McCoy’s, trying not to choke on it. 

“I, of course, consented. There was no logical reason not to. More than that, I believed they would... finally prove that I am Vulcan.” He glanced away, bitterly. “The tests took a month during the hottest part of the Vulcan summer, while my father was away on an ambassadorial trip. I remained in the lab all that month. They wished to calculate a baseline for a hybrid’s capabilities, and they tested every conceivable function.” 

The bright whiteness of the lab burned his retinas, the desperate struggle for breath as he was calmly asked how long he needed to recover before he would get up again, the answer ‘Irrelevant’ burned into his ears when he asked how his results compared to a typical Vulcan’s. His forearms itched with a remembered pain. “They tested how long a hybrid would bleed, how long it would take him to heal from a cut or bruise or burn, how much force it takes to break a hybrid bone and how long it takes to heal naturally from such a break. What kind of drugs cause what kind of reactions in a hybrid. How long a hybrid can go without food or water or air or sleep, what the hottest and coldest temperatures a hybrid can withstand are. How long a hybrid can survive a telepathic pressure or emotional onslaught, how quickly a hybrid can run and how fast he can recover. How much... How much pain it takes a hybrid to scream.” It was with a sick satisfaction that he remembered the barely concealed hatred in their eyes as they informed him they had to cease the tests in order not to permanently damage him, the scream he had been forcing back remaining trapped in his throat and unaired. 

“That’s torture,” McCoy snarled, and Spock startled out of the memory, meeting the Doctor’s incensed gaze. He pressed his palms into his thighs, feeling the rub of his uniform on his fingers, a physical reminder of his body.

“It was not torture,” he said, and felt his heart beating jackrabbit fast in his side, his breath hitching on the word. Another thing he was running away from, some voice whispered to him, and he shoved it back, wishing it didn’t exist so he could convince himself his words were the truth. “I consented, and I was in no danger.” 

McCoy was unconvinced, slamming his own fist down on his knee, and Spock kept from flinching but knew his face was pale. McCoy’s voice came out in a twisted, dark hiss. “It was torture. It’s unethical. They should’ve stopped when you asked-”

“I did not ask.” McCoy stared at him, eyes wide and face pale. All the tension seemed to leave his shoulders, some desperate emotion Spock had no name for filling his eyes, brows drawn together.

“What?”

He licked his lips, looking away, eyes falling helplessly to the tricorder on the table. “I did not ask them to stop.” Some shudder ran down his back, and he tried to convince himself it was because Terra was cold, Terra was always cold, but it didn’t work. The frayed edges of his mind reached for something that had never been there. “I... was afraid they would not, even if I asked, and so I did not. I would have been revoking consent under duress, and it would not have been logical for them to stop. I did not want to prove that I am not Vulcan enough, that I was compromised. I didn’t want to be forced to recognize that they cared not for my safety or health, only for their science. I-... It was not torture. It was logical to run the tests.” 

“Fuck logic!” McCoy spat as he stood, pacing the length of the room. Spock couldn’t help the tightening of his shoulders, his breaths coming faster. There was no reason to fear, he knew. There had never been any reason to fear. He tore his gaze back to the floor, forcing words out through numb lips, because he had already started the story -- he might as well finish it.

“There was always someone with a scanner. Every aspect of my life in the lab was recorded. All of it was relevant data.”

“Spock,” McCoy interrupted, voice urgent and hurt as he knelt in front of him, hands twitching like he wanted to reach out, “what did they really do to you in there? Pushing limits like that, it’s not safe, it’s not easy to heal.” Spock knew his eyes looked haunted when he met McCoy’s for an instant, before he looked towards the window once more, the easy light outside seeming unreal and distant. 

“One night I was left alone, to sleep, one of the rare times I was truly alone. I could not sleep. I was not physically confined in the lab, but I feared the reaction if I left. Instead, I acquired a communicator, and attempted to contact my father.” His eyes sought McCoy without his conscious consent, desperate for something, some reassurance he had never gotten, something to help settle what he had never truly been able to understand. “I wanted him to explain to me the logic, to convince me I was doing the right thing.” He took a breath, closing his eyes momentarily to gather himself and shaking his head. “I got Starfleet instead.” McCoy flinched back as if he had been hit, standing again, watching him warily. Wary of what, Spock couldn't say.

“When I told them I was Sarek’s son, they told me they could not put me in contact with him even if I could prove my identity. So I tried to explain to them what was happening to me, asked they send me a representative. I was highly compromised at the time. I thought a Human would be able to provide me a different perspective, would show me that the Vulcan logic was, in this instance as always, sound. Or, if not, Humans and Vulcans have always kept each other in check, have always been closely associated. I thought, of course a Starfleet Human would understand the ethical issues surrounding the study of a new species even better than a Vulcan would.” 

He hated that tears were prickling hot in his eyes, fists clenched in his lap. He recognized the look of horror on McCoy’s face, a horror he always seemed to inspire in others. “They laughed at me, and then said they would be telling my superior, and that prank calls were not tolerated. The communication was terminated.” 

McCoy swore vehemently, pacing the length of the room again, hands disheveling his hair in anger. He was trembling, and Spock felt himself trembling as well, not sure what to do with the emotionally charged air but afraid to leave. He didn’t know what the reaction would be if he left. He continued, forcing his voice to come out at more than a whisper. “My father picked me up at the end of the month. I was perfectly healthy. I had always been safe. There was no logic in permanently harming me. I told him what had happened, because I wanted to understand. I could not comprehend the logic of some of the tests I had been through.” Some harsh laugh escaped his throat, humorless and grating and startling even him. “He asked me when I was going to cease my Human attention-seeking behavior, did not believe me when I spoke of what I had endured.” 

His next breath shuddered on its way out, and he wished McCoy couldn’t see when he reached up to brush a traitorous tear away. “You pointed out, Doctor, that there are no psychological profiles published of me as a young adult. That is because they were entirely Vulcan and uninteresting. The researchers did their best to search for any trace of Humanity within me they could find, and I in return suppressed it more that month than I ever had. Yet when my father said that to me, I told him he had borne a Human child, and if I was so bad at being a Vulcan son, I would show him what it really meant to have a Human one. I asked if he truly believed I was lying, or simply did not want to recognize the abuse the one remaining thing he had of Amanda suffered.” He winced at his own words, couldn’t meet McCoy’s eye. 

“He walked out and didn’t return until the next morning. For the next year, I attempted to learn how to be Human. I graduated the summer I was 18, and was rejected from the Vulcan Science Academy despite my accomplishments for my ‘unseemly Human rebellion’. That night I... I begged my father to love me like he loved my mother. Tried to make him see that Humans need emotional nourishment like Vulcans require logical discipline. To convince him that I needed both. It was the second night he walked away from me.” The ache was still sharp in his lungs, even now, and he closed his eyes momentarily to gather himself. 

“I gave him a year. I worked furiously at my studies, hoping to reapply to the Academy. I toned back my Human aspects I had been attempting to embrace. I was accepted, despite what the board deemed my disability. In a very Human fit of anger, I declined. That evening...” Burning eyes and sharp teeth, and sharper words. The feeling of being very, very small again, cornered by a le-matya. He swallowed. “I do not believe he would have, but at the time I truly feared my father would strike me. I had never seen him show emotion before then, but he was furious at the humiliation I had borne him then. He said he did not know me, and wished he had never had a son, had never met my mother in the first place. He said marrying her had been logical, and he had believed bearing a child was logical as well, but all my life had been an illogical strife for him. I locked myself in my room and slipped out the window that night.” His backpack had been even lighter then, and when he had packed it he had realized he had nothing of a life, not really. 

Now his voice came out choked, a weak whisper, shame burning in his ears. “He could have found me, in the city. I was not hiding. He did not look. I didn’t go back.” 

“You were 19?” McCoy asked, and he sounded heartbroken. “Spock, that’s almost four years. Where’s the logic in that? You were a _child._ ” 

He didn’t say he had failed to find any logic in it at all, had never managed to grasp the logic of the other Vulcans, another one of his hybrid failings, but his silence seemed to be answer enough for McCoy as the Doctor swore vehemently, fists shaking at his sides. Finally, Spock could meet his eye again, tried to shove back those emotions that grated so sharply against his mind. “So now you know what Starfleet has saddled itself with,” he said, as evenly as he could, but it came out softer than he wanted. “I wonder what data you will glean from me in these years, Doctor.” 

Something in McCoy’s eyes looked broken. Spock wished he knew how to fix it. He wished he could fix himself.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear. It was fear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I'm sorry this is late. Life got super busy and then I realized I Totally Hate this chapter. But I'm sick of staring at it and trying to fix it, so I'm posting it anyway! Next chapter will be better. Not sure if that'll be out next week, but I'll definitely try. If you'd like to see updates for this fic, check out the "spock is a feral bitch baby" tag on [my tumblr](ifdragonscouldtalk.tumblr.com)
> 
> As always, PLEASE comment for me! It gives me so much joy and happiness to see you guys thoughts or even just some hearts in my email. Thank you for sticking with me!

Spock kept looking at him with that guarded gaze, exhaustion written in the way he held himself, in his shoulders bowing inwards, and finally Leonard could recognize that odd look in his eyes that had confused him so the first time he’d seen him, that had drawn him in and made him want to know more, to help and fix. 

Fear. It was fear. 

A perpetual terror of the world around him from harshly learning that there was nowhere he was safe, no place where he could escape what he had been made into. No wonder he was self-destructive, aggressive then submissive in turns. No wonder he ran at the first sign of confrontation, puffed himself up while shrinking back. No wonder he was so wary when he and Jim offered something. 

No wonder he didn’t trust Starfleet. 

Rage poured hot into Leonard’s lungs at the thought, making him shiver, trying desperately to unclench his fists because appearing threatening would not be helpful here. No wonder Spock hated Starfleet, believed the organization to be corrupt. And no wonder he had come when offered, accepting the lesser of two evils, ready to escape the evil he already knew at the expense of his own health and safety. Stars, no wonder he didn’t think twice when he was forgotten and abandoned with no room on campus. 

Self-destruction. Self-flagellation. A cycle of thinking he wasn’t good enough and then burning himself up trying to convince himself he was. Abandonment, even by his own mind; Leonard could see it in the way he trembled and stared out at the sky. Vulcans needed to be cemented outside their emotions, Humans needed to flow through them, and Spock was torn between the two, swinging like a pendulum gaining speed, ready to crash through whatever it next encountered, whether that was his own self or someone else. 

“Would it help if you scanned yourself?” he finally managed to say, proud that his voice came out even and calm, sitting back down slowly. Spock blinked at him, tilting his head in confusion, still lost in memory and emotion. 

“Pardon?” 

“The tricorder. It makes you uncomfortable. I get that. We need this scan, but I figure you know how to work a tricorder?” Spock nodded, a furrow between his brows. “Right. So what if you scanned yourself? I’d still need to look at the data, but it automatically uploads to my PADD, so I can do it later. You can scan yourself, and then we can go through the questions.” 

There was something there, in those expressive eyes, but Leonard couldn’t read it. He doubted he’d ever be able to read Spock, wondered if anyone had ever tried. Spock considered, then stood carefully, picking up the tricorder from the table and checking the settings. He scanned himself efficiently while Leonard watched before placing the tricorder back down and sitting once more, and Leonard nodded, offering a smile that was at odds with the anger still boiling in his gut. “Alright. I just need to clarify some of your medical history, but if you ever need me to stop-”

“Proceed, Doctor.” Spock’s voice was blank, emotionless. Leonard wondered if it was in defense, or a self comfort, or something else entirely. 

He sighed. The anger hadn’t fully left, kept flaring again, but he managed to keep it contained well enough, it seemed, because Spock had stopped looking at him warily. “You won’t pass our psych eval, Spock,” he said finally, and watched as Spock’s face shifted minutely, some unreadable emotion in the uncomfortable shift of his body. 

“I see.” 

“I’m telling you this because I need to talk with Captain Pike about it. I won’t and can’t tell him why, but there are things we can do.” Spock was guarding again, shoulders tense and gaze wary with fear, with distrust. “I mean, if you work with us, you can still start class this semester like you want, but I wouldn’t suggest it.” Spock considered him for a moment. 

“Work with you?” 

“You’ll have to attend therapy. We can’t have you flinching every time you see a tricorder.” He winced internally at his callous words, but Spock only tipped his head to consider again. 

“Therapy does not traditionally help Vulcans.”

“But it does help Humans,” he said gently. There, a minute flinch of Spock’s fingers. But he nodded, face thoughtful. 

“Indeed. I shall work with you, Doctor. I... wish to attend the Academy.” He sighed, wondering if he was allowing Spock to destroy himself in an effort to prove his worth, and stood, heading for the door. 

“I’ll send Chris in once I give him the rundown. Just sit tight for a moment.” He caught Spock frowning at the turn of phrase before he closed the door. 

His rage surged up again in the absence of a need for control, searching for an outlet, searching for some way he could make his displeasure at the universe known. It manifested in a balled up fist and a wall, barely caught by Jim as he was drawn into his lover’s arms, a concerned voice by his ear trying to calm the tension in his muscles. 

“What’s wrong? Is Spock sick?” 

“Physically he’s fine,” he spat back, resisting the urge to wrestle his fist back and put a hole in their apartment wall. “Fit as a fiddle, for all I can tell, but I can’t interpret his readings for a damn anyway, they’re all over the place. Just have to hope he’s fine and these’ll work as a baseline.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” Jim asked quietly, trying to gently steer him to the couch Chris had risen from in surprise. “Talk to us, Bones.” He took a deep breath, shaking in his skin, allowing Jim to push him onto the couch and settle close next to him, pressed against his side. How much could he say? 

Nothing. That was the answer. He could tell them just about nothing. Anything more would be not only a violation of ethics as a doctor, but also a breach of Spock’s trust, which for some reason he had. 

“He won’t pass our psych eval,” he said finally, after several moments of breathing Jim in and remembering that however bad it was, Spock was here now, safe. “I told him we could work with him.” He glanced at Pike, who was staring at him, considering. 

“Work with him how?” he said after a moment, and he was glad neither of them had asked anything more, not sure if Spock could hear them even through the soundproofing of the walls. 

“I said if he went to therapy regularly, he could start classes like he wanted, although I’m recommending a smaller class load rather than a full load. I figure if he shows improvement over the next couple months, there shouldn’t be any problem. I’m confident he’ll be able to pass the deep space eval, as long as we continue to work with him.” He was. Spock’s trauma was deep, extensive -- but clearly, he had a will to overcome it, and a desire not to be held back. Pike nodded. 

“If that’s what you recommend, Doctor, I don’t see any problem with it. Jim, what do you think? Do you think he can start this semester?” Jim glanced up, some grim smile on his lips. 

“Chris, the only person smarter and more stubborn than me on this campus is the cadet in my bedroom. I’m sure he’ll do fine.” Pike gave a smile and stood. 

“I’m not quite sure that’s possible, Jim, but I’ll take your word for it.” 

“Chris,” Leonard said quietly as Pike went to turn away and fetch Spock, “don’t push him. I know that’s your modus operandi, and a whole lotta people here could do with a little pushing, but it won’t work with Spock, and it won’t go the way you want.” Pike nodded grimly, grimacing. 

“Believe me, McCoy, I don’t want to see any more of my cadets with broken noses, and I certainly don’t want one myself. I’ll figure it out. I need to have some conversations about administration speed and cadet care anyway. Might be good practice.” 

Jim scowled at the wall, tightening his arm around Leonard’s shoulders. “That was ridiculous. I know it wasn’t your fault, you were away, but three days? You should’ve seen him at dinner, Chris.” 

“Let’s not gossip about him while he’s in the other room,” Leonard grumbled, tugging on his own ear, not sure of how Spock would react if they could hear him. “Pike, go do your job and talk to the kid so we can eat.” 

“You’ve tested out of most introductory science courses in all specialties, you aced all the diplomacy tests and are nearly fluent in many languages, you have a better grasp on engineering basics than most engineering cadets when they begin, your coding is immaculate -- I’m not sure what you did, but Lieutenant Kifor was incredibly excited to see your tests -- and you’ve got a good grasp on politics and most command basics. That’s without testing your practicals, such as survival, which I’m sure you’ll do fine on.” 

Pike stopped, considering the Vulcan who stood in loose parade rest before him, shoulders straighter than he’d seen them before, something like surprised pride shining in his eyes. “Truly, you’re a jack of all trades.” He watched, amused, as Spock tilted his head in puzzlement at the turn of phrase, and felt that, despite his physical age, Spock was incredibly, terribly young. Vulcans lived longer than Humans did, and their brains were even more specialized; he wondered if, just because Spock looked like a young adult, he actually was, or if he was actually much younger. 

“Thank you, sir,” Spock said after the silence went on a moment too long, his voice even and respectful for the first time Pike had heard. He grinned back. 

“So the question now is what your focus is going to be, son. You could easily multi-focus in the sciences, you could challenge yourself with engineering, or you would do well in one of the command focuses, perhaps communications. The choice is yours.” Spock blinked, eyebrows raising, and Pike wondered what he was thinking. Wondered what McCoy had learned to upset him so much. 

“I’d like to focus on command and science. I wish to be a CSO.” It sounded like something Spock had thought about a long time, and Pike nodded slowly, considering. Chief science officer was a lofty goal, and one Spock would be challenged in -- he could see where it would be a good fit. 

“What are you thinking for your science focus? Obviously command will be focused on executive and managerial functions.” 

“Astrophysics and xenobiology. I’m particularly interested in marine biology.” Pike nodded. Growing up on a mostly desert planet, marine life would be a new, fascinating experience for Spock, but it would be easier to have him multiclass in xenobiology given the knowledge he already had based on his tests. 

“Alright. We’re going to underload you this semester while you’re... working through stuff.” He grimaced at himself, but Spock just nodded placidly, watching him like he could see straight into his soul. “Three classes. I’m thinking of putting you into the theoretical command classes, they’ll be easier for you to catch up on and don’t have required lab time.” 

“If that is what you suggest, sir.” Pike couldn’t help but smile. This seemed like a completely different man than who he had met a week ago. He wondered if it was a good thing or not. 

“It is. And hey, Spock,” he forced himself not to fidget, knowing it was unbecoming of a captain, “I’m sorry about the way you’ve been treated at Starfleet so far, and I’m sorry about my own insensitivities. Humanity has come a long way, but we still have a lot to learn, me included. I’m going to do better.” 

Spock continued to stare at him, searching his face for something -- maybe evidence that he was lying. Finally, he nodded, eyes softening in some imperceptible way Pike couldn’t interpret. 

“I appreciate that, sir. I have high expectations.” 

“As you should. C’mon now, let’s eat. Jim can’t cook for shit, but luckily Leonard’s cooking tonight.” 

Lying next to Jim that night, the rage still burning in his chest, soothed only slightly by the good food and the way Spock had slowly relaxed throughout the evening, looking at them with less distrust and more respect as senior officers, Leonard wondered what exactly the next three years were going to look like, and whether Starfleet was as prepared for Spock as Pike thought. He glanced over at Jim, snoring heavily, hair mussed from the pillow, and wondered how Starfleet had been prepared for the two of them in the first place, or whether they’d made the storm they wanted to yet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought!!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You will always have a proud mother. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry this took so long to get out. I'll try and crank another out for you tomorrow, but no promises. Figured I'd post this now so that you guys could have something nice to read. 
> 
> Let me know what yall think! This was harder for me.   
> I'm planning on a couple low-key slice of life adventure chapters, but I have few ideas for that so let me know if there's something you'd like to see!

T’Khasi was cool tonight, autumn quickly descending upon the desert. Even with the fire to his side Spock felt chilled, but in a way that invigorated him, filled his lungs with the potential of the coming winter and the next spring. She was comfortable in this environment, breathing in the cooler air with a smile, her scarf loose around her neck instead of covering her hair and face. 

Her smile was soft, so infinitely soft. 

It hurt. 

“Spock,” she said, and her voice shook like she was about to cry but her eyes were sparkling with so much happiness, reaching for his face with one soft hand, pressing her palm against his cheek. He didn’t turn into it, didn’t move at all, trapped by her eyes, so loving and happy where his were sad and bitter, swallowing something that tasted like blood and iron on the back of his tongue. “Stars, I am so proud of you. My baby boy, look at you, you’re all grown up. Look at where you are.” 

“Mother,” he finally whispered, closing his eyes to try and press back his tears. “Mom...” 

“Oh baby.” Her voice ached, tender, raw to both of them, and it hit him like a blow to the chest, shaking him apart from the inside. His fingers trembled. “It’s been so long, I know. You didn’t need me until now, Spock.” 

“I thought I made you up.” He opened his eyes to Amanda’s tears, slipping down her cheeks silently, her smile no less wide and her palm no less warm, branding him sweetly. 

“Oh, baby boy, if you had, would it make my love for you any less important?” He swallowed again, shook his head because he knew it was what she wanted to see but dreaded this, dreaded knowing he was insane as well as an abomination. “I do, Spock,” she said, and it came out a trembling whisper as she gently guided him down so she could press a warm kiss into his other cheek, pressing her nose under his eye. “I love you so, so much. I’m so proud of you, so proud, as proud as a mother can be. I’ve always been proud of you, and I always will be, no matter what choices you make.” 

“Mother,” he sobbed out, and fell to his knees, pressing his face into her stomach to hide his tears. One of her hands, soft and warm, cradled the back of his neck, the other carding through his curls, tangling in them, gently working out the knots and sand. 

“I’m so sorry, Spock,” she said, her own voice trembling, and his fingers clutched at her robes, shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “I never wanted to leave you. I wanted to be here for you, for you and Sarek both. I wanted to advocate for you.” She pressed her fingers along his scalp, letting out a wet, shaky laugh. “Oh baby, you should’ve never had to stand up for yourself like that. I should’ve been there. I wanted to, I wanted to so badly, to go through those struggles with you.” 

“I know,” he choked out, nodding into her robes wetly. “I know, Mother.” 

“It’s not enough,” she said sadly. “It’s not enough that you know, or that I wanted. But I love you so much. I’m so unbelievably happy to see the young man you’ve grown into. To see you standing up for yourself. Reaching out. I’m so, so proud of you, Spock.” 

“You said that. You say that every time.” Amanda tilted his head back, and hand on his cheek, and he looked up at her through tear blurred eyes, small sobs escaping him as he looked at his mother -- so crisp, clear, hair graying like it wasn’t in the holos he had seen of her, eyes warm and kind in a way images couldn’t convey, and he wondered how he was crazy enough to imagine this, how his mind was good enough to envision a mother he had never met in such perfect, beautiful detail. 

“I need you to remember, Spock,” she said, her breath shaking unevenly. “I need you to know just how much your mother loves -- should have loved, would have loved -- you, and how indescribably proud you make me -- her, would have made her, do make her -- every single day. Even when the rest of the universe seems to be bearing down upon you, your mother has always loved you, Spock.” 

His sobs were desperate, shaken and small, and he pressed his face back into her, clutching her tighter, terrified to let go. The fire at his back was growing cooler. “It’s been so hard, unbearable, baby boy, watching you grow up without me. I wanted to be there, so, so much. I tried to guide you, to comfort you like a mother needs to, but I realized I was only hurting you more.” 

“I missed you,” he cried. “When you stopped visiting my dreams, when I stopped having dreams. It was illogical! I missed you so much, Mother!” 

“I’m so sorry baby boy.” It escaped Amanda on a sob of her own, pressing her hands to his head like she was supplanting in him some religious revelation. “I never wanted to hurt you, never. You were borne out of your father and I’s love, and we  _ loved _ you.” 

“Father does not love me,” he mumbled, and felt her fingers tremble in his hair. 

“Oh baby,” she sighed, sad and aching. “Sarek is a terrible fool, and I don’t expect you to forgive him for that. But I hope you can take some comfort in me promising he does love you -- and he had no idea what to do about it.” Spock shook his head, unbelieving, but allowed her to guide him away and up again with a hand on his cheek until he was standing, looking down into her eyes. The last time he had dreamt of her like this, he had been young, young enough to sit upon her lap and listen to her laugh as she savored in simply holding him. Now he was taller than she, and she looked so much sadder and more tired. 

“Remember what I said, Spock,” she whispered, leaning up to press another kiss into his skin, warm and terrible. “No matter who you become, you will always have a proud mother.” 

“Please,” he whispered, more tears slipping from his eyes, cooling quickly on too-warm cheeks. “I don’t want you to leave again. I don’t want to wake up.” 

“I’m here with you, baby, always. It’s time. You have breakfast with Gaila.” 

The sharp ringing of his alarm startled Spock awake and he gasped in the morning air, the too-cool oxygen-rich air of his dormitory, tears cooling on his face and pillow. He reached over and turned the alarm off before rolling onto his back, staring up at his ceiling blankly in the early morning sunlight as he remembered he was meeting Gaila for breakfast in half an hour. He pressed his palms to his eyes and allowed himself a sob, shaking as he tried to memorize every detail of Amanda’s face in his dream, every word that she begged him to remember. 

Even if he was crazy, the dream was his. He would cherish it. 

He wouldn’t tell his new therapist about it. 

It took more effort than it should have to look at himself in his cadet reds. He didn’t recognize himself in them, didn’t recognize the stiff young Vulcan staring back at him in the mirror with eyes numb from exhaustion, green rimmed from crying. Even with his makeup on, his eyes looked tired and sad, hollow. He wished they weren’t so easily read. 

He brushed a hand through his curls again, ruffling them, trying to make them hide his Vulcan features, his ears, his eyebrows, but there was no way to hide his angular figure, the stiffness in how he held himself. He let his hands drop, closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at himself. 

_ You will always have a proud mother. _

It had been his wish for so long, since the moment he realized he would never have a proud father. His dreams about Amanda had started when he was young, so young he couldn’t remember the first one. When he was eight years old, he had gotten into a fight with his classmates after they called Amanda a slut, and Sarek a traitor. He hadn’t dreamed of her since. 

His subconscious had known his mother wouldn’t have been proud of him, he thought. 

Now was a strange time for those dreams to return. Perhaps it was being on Terra, surrounded by Humans, or perhaps it was the way his therapist had been prying at him to open up about his feelings about Amanda, to little success. He wasn’t very good at being honest with himself about his emotions; he certainly wasn’t going to be honest with a perfect stranger about them. 

His head ached, a tense pressure above his ears, and he turned away from the mirror before he opened his eyes, not wanting to see the exhaustion there anymore. He braced himself for the San Francisco chill, grabbed his bag, and went to meet Gaila.

Gaila didn’t say anything about how he looked, about his green-rimmed eyes or the tenseness of his shoulders; she simply smiled at him and brushed a hand over his arm, a comforting and familiar touch in Orion culture. She ordered food for him, placed his tea close to his hand -- tea on Terra was too sweet or too bitter, he’d found, but he drank it anyway, craving some small part of home (and he had never considered it home until he was desperately missing the warmth of the sands and the familiarity of the city) -- and sat across from him without any sympathy or pity in her expression. 

“So,” she said as he sipped at his tea without tasting it, her smile never fading, “your first week of classes. How is everything going?” 

Although they had been in communication with each other and had seen each other several times, he had found little time to speak with Gaila casually as he attempted to learn 6 weeks of material for three classes and do several projects. There had been little opportunity to explain to her what had occurred his first two weeks on Terra, although she knew vaguely of his housing troubles and his deal with Dr McCoy and Captain Pike. Despite the heavy workload, heavier than he’d had since he had rejected the VSA’s offer, he had been enjoying the challenge so far, the excitement of learning blossoming in his chest. However... He paused, raising a brow at her as he considered. 

Spock’s professors, as a whole, disliked him. 

He wasn’t sure whether it was subtle xenophobia, a perception of favoritism by command over Humans, or just that he was making more work for them in the middle of the semester, trying to catch up to the rest of the class. They didn’t often meet his eyes, often used sarcasm when speaking to him as if he didn’t know what it was or couldn’t tell when they were using it, tended to talk over him or past him, and often refused to call on him when they asked the class a question. 

Then there were the cadets. 

Still, there was no outright aggression from anyone, no explicitly unkind words, and the professors had been mostly accommodating to him, even if only because they had been ordered by the administration to be so. 

“It has been adequate,” he answered finally, because it was. It had been enough, at least. Gaila simply raised a brow, seeming unconvinced. 

“And your... other stuff?” He knew she could sense his reluctance to speak about it. It went against everything he had been raised to know, against his very nature, to speak of his emotions and his inner thoughts so, even to a close friend -- much less to a complete stranger he had only met several days ago. 

Still, he had found it had been... easing, in some way, to speak of the past. As if he were narrating the life of someone else, someone long dead, and in doing so a coil was releasing around his stomach, allowing him to rest easy again. 

His therapist, an aged man who insisted Spock call him Phil, was “down to earth” as the Humans said, a man who would just as easily speak about himself as he would ask about Spock. He eased Spock into security sneakily, speaking to him about the newest scientific papers, asking about Vulcans and the culture in Shi’Khar, before demanding he speak of the past with a challenge in his eyes and a raised eyebrow. 

And it worked. It rankled Spock that it did, but he had a difficult time resisting a challenge. 

“The tricorder can’t do anything to you,” Phil had said firmly at the end of their second tri-weekly session. “It’s who’s holding it that’s the problem, Spock. It’s not logical to fear an inanimate object, I know you know that. Now, that doesn’t mean you won’t still have a reaction to it. You can’t control that, and you shouldn’t blame yourself that you can’t. But here’s the thing -- it’s not really the tricorder that you’re scared of. You need to learn to trust people again.” 

It was easier said than done. 

He swallowed, frowning. “It is also adequate,” he answered Gaila, looking down into his tea. He wondered if McCoy was right in believing he could overcome this. Gaila nodded again, then looked up and grinned as a tired and frustrated looking Nyota flopped down in the seat next to him, startling him even if he didn’t show it. His meditation had been going poorly recently, and he knew he wasn’t being as observant as he usually was. 

“Goddamn Yulik,” Nyota growled, slamming her bag down on the ground and grabbing his muffin off his plate, ignoring his frown. “He’s such an ass, I can’t believe they allow him to teach.” 

“What’d he do this time?” Gaila asked gleefully, leaning closer, and as Nyota began to rant it seemed a bit easier to eat, to choke down the bitter tea in his cup, and to allow himself to smile softly at the two women who had demanded he know them and they know him. The unease in his chest settled as their voices washed over himself, warm and comforting, branding him sweetly, and he thought, maybe, this could be enough -- maybe, he could allow himself to believe in the trust others had in him, and overcome this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Who do you want to be, Spock? Or, here’s a better question: what do you want to be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive given up on this chapter....   
> life is crazy huh guys?  
> anyway please come talk to me on tumblr *cries* this fic is so hard for me to write right now and i could use some love

Summer on Terra pressed quickly into autumn, a biting chill filling the wind of San Francisco as the leaves turned and fell, red and yellow and brown lining the sidewalks. The colors reminded him of Vulcan -- the weather less so. 

He spent much of September with his arms tucked across his chest, trying to keep warm as he hurried across campus to his next class or therapy session or the library, nose and ears tinged green with blood. Nyota told him that along with his ‘grumpy’ expression made him seem stand-offish and scared people. Gaila told him it was cute. 

October saw Nyota and Gaila bursting into his room one Saturday during his meditation, startling him so badly he pulled his knife from his boot (which neither startled nor frightened either of them), ignoring his complaints about needing to meditate on his recent therapy session in favor of dragging him shopping. 

“I do not see the allure in this,” he grumbled, arms crossed against the chill, his thick winter robe still not thick enough to block out the San Francisco wind. 

“In what,” Nyota asked, “Earth, winter, or clothes shopping?”

“All three,” Gaila answered for him with a laugh. She wasn’t as bothered by the weather as he was, since Orion climate was more similar to Terran climate compared to Vulcan; both women were wearing light sweaters and jeans, hair braided down their backs. Spock felt like he looked woefully inadequate next to them in his highly out-of-place robe. 

Clothes shopping did not turn out to be as painful as expected. Nyota led them to an out-of-the-way boutique that had few people shopping and asked him, “What do you like to wear?” 

He had never given it much thought. 

On Vulcan, he had worn whatever clothes were sensible, whatever his father bought for him -- and then whatever he could get his hands on that was clean, in good condition, and his size. Terran clothing was certainly appealing in its varying shapes and colors, but he had spent most of his time in muted robes with tasteful ornamentation. He liked jeans for their sturdiness, and boots for their usefulness -- logical choices, he realized after a moment. 

Perhaps he had been silent a moment too long, because Nyota sighed at him. “Do you want to try new things, or go with something easy and comfortable?” she asked instead, and he gave it a moment of thought. 

“I would like to try new things,” he replied, hesitantly stepping away from them to move further into the store. “Although I do not believe I’m quite as adventurous as either of you.” 

“I don’t believe that for a second, Mr. ‘Perfect Vulcan’,” Gaila teased, bumping his shoulder with hers, and he couldn’t help the small fond smile that rose on his lips. He fingered a display of leggings, letting the soft fabric rub across his skin -- it was calming, in a way. They felt like they would be comfortable, thick for the winter months but not bulky. Nyota was fond of leggings, whereas Gaila preferred jeans or skirts with tights, he knew from observing them. 

Nyota watched him silently as he picked through the stack for his size while Gaila flounced away, declaring she was going to “find some cute things for you to try on, Spock!” and he had a second to wonder at how Gaila defined ‘cute’ before he glanced at the credits tag and felt himself freeze. 

His scholarship was providing for him adequately, as Captain Pike had promised, allowing him all the necessities of school along with a small stipend for any extra supplies he may need -- books, PADDs, a new backpack, toiletries, food supplements he couldn’t find in the dining areas -- but it was still meager in comparison to most other students, he knew. Gaila, who was attending under the same scholarship, had shown him where to find the cheapest makeup that wouldn’t irritate his skin when he expressed interest in wearing it once more, a luxury he hadn’t been able to afford on Vulcan. Despite these clothes being relatively cheap, they were still more than he was willing to pay when he had perfectly functional items of clothing already. 

Nyota stopped that train of thought before it could really start. “I’m buying,” she said, hip-checking him out of the way so she could grab the leggings and lay them over her arm. “And don’t argue with me about it. I don’t care if it’s illogical or whatever. I did the same thing for Gaila when she became my roommate. I have more than enough money and my parents are overjoyed I have friends to spend it on, and I don’t like seeing you cold, Spock. It’s not logical for me to let you suffer in an environment you aren’t suited for when I’m perfectly capable of purchasing these for you and it won’t cause any problems for me.” 

He stared at her, letting his hands clench and then unclench in a nervous tick he needed to get rid of. “Your logic is sound,” he said slowly, although it grated on him to do so. “I am... grateful, Nyota. Thank you.” 

He knew his agitation came from a scarcity mindset. He was never in a dire situation on Vulcan, for much the same reasons as Nyota had listed. Vulcans were not necessarily kind, but they were logical, and so he was generally provided with food and clothing, even if he was regarded with disdain for never seeking a shelter or more stable employment. It wasn’t logical to live in a cave when there were shelters for troubled Vulcans in the city which could assist him -- but it also wasn’t logical to run away from home, to fear being returned to his father. He stayed out of the way for his own reasons, even if they weren’t logical reasons, and although he wasn’t accepted he was, in some ways, cared for by the community, by many people who he would never meet again. At the same time, he never had anything in abundance. He had to take care with his things and with himself. His odd jobs, generally construction or cleaning or other such jobs in the space port which were, to many on Vulcan, undesirable and mostly done by automation, provided for his food, but never in excess, just enough to adequately feed himself. When he had no job, he had gotten quite good at twisting logic to convince others to feed him; and at outright lying, something he would never admit to. 

When Nyota beamed at him, all teeth and genuine joy, he could almost convince himself that he didn’t feel ashamed of the situation he had landed himself in, where he had to rely so heavily on others to support him. He could almost bask in the clear care she held for him, enough to clothe him nicely and teach him about Humanity. 

“We’ll get two of these,” she said with a nod of finality, draping another in his size over her arm as well. “What else? You should get a new pair of jeans, and some sweaters, and a jacket you can wear over your uniform when you’re walking to class.” He raised a brow at her, feeling somewhat overwhelmed. 

The rest of the morning passed in a whirl of the two forcing him into the dressing room to try on increasingly ludicrous-looking sweaters of various colors and patterns before he put his foot down at one that was shockingly orange with several ugly pink birds on it. Gaila found him an overcoat with a fleece lining which was sufficiently warm but not bulky which he could wear while walking on campus between classes, and Nyota insisted on buying him far too many pairs of thick or fluffy socks. By lunch he was warm with gratitude and embarrassment alike, and after Nyota had checked out (forcing Gaila to distract him so he wouldn’t see the credit total) he ran paired fingers over their cheeks in affection as thanks, and both beamed at him, eyes sparkling in the cold sunlight. 

He wished, sometimes, he could be as expressive and happy as they were. 

“Who do you want to be, Spock?” Phil asked the next week after they had been quiet for several minutes. Spock tilted his head as he considered, the sleeves of his new sweater (garishly green with blue stripes, which Gaila picked out for him) pulled down over his wrists. “Or, here’s a better question:  _ what _ do you want to be?”

“Clarify,” he said after a moment, watching the Human intensely. Phil shifted, folding his hands together on his knee. 

“You aren’t Human,” he said after a moment, clearly considering his words. “You don’t present yourself as Human. And you aren’t Vulcan either. So what are you? From what you’ve told me, you only rejected the Vulcan way in an effort to make a statement to your father. Did you dislike being a Vulcan so much? Do you enjoy being Human? You don’t act fully Human, and you don’t identify yourself as Human, so it’s not that you truly want to be Human. You identify yourself as Vulcan, not even as a hybrid. You think of yourself as Vulcan, so what drove you away from Vulcan and the Vulcan way? Well, I have the answer to that -- you wanted to escape the way other Vulcans treated you. You wanted a reason for the way you were treated, so you made one, and because the poor treatment you received from others never stopped, you never stopped trying to ‘prove’ you deserved it because you aren’t ‘Vulcan enough’. It’s a rebellion in its own way, but it’s affected you, and I think you know that. It’s not healthy. So I think you should consider what you want to be, and how you want to present yourself. Is this it?” 

Spock stared at him, mind reeling, and Phil sat back comfortably, allowing him to think in the thick silence until their session was over. 

“Do you think he perms his hair?” he heard the cadet say to her friend as he ate quietly, skimming his notes for his next class. “I heard that Vulcans don’t have curly hair.” 

This was not necessarily true. Many Vulcans had curly hair, although it was more common in those with the capability to bear children, as it seemed to be on the same gene as sexual organs. However, in Shi’Khar in particular, which was the most popular hub of intergalactic Vulcan culture, straight hair was popular and often sought out by those who had curls, as it was seen as logical to have hair that laid flat easily and was not distracting or in the way. 

Notably, the most popular Vulcan in his year, T’Pring, had not subscribed to these aesthetic standards, preferring to wear her hair long and flowing when participating in recreation and piled high in braids on her head when in class or at another function. It had been quite distracting, and had captivated the attention of many of his peers. He had, illogically, been fond of her hair, if only because it kept the others from noticing when his permanent straightening treatments needed to be redone. 

“I think it’s offensive,” her friend said, quite snidely. “He’s trying to be Human, or something, like we don’t all know who he is. He’s some big deal or something and he thinks he can just hide it with a few curls? Unlikely. It’d be like if I started greeting people ‘live long and prosper’ without any reason for it.” 

He didn’t understand her argument -- her using the Vulcan greeting would not be offensive in any manner, to any Vulcan -- but kept himself from looking up at them or touching his hair self-consciously. 

Did he want to be Human? 

In truth, he had only ceased straightening his hair because he did not have the skills or credits necessary to do so, not because of any dislike for the traditional Vulcan style. He had become used to seeing himself with his natural curls, but he held no true preference either way.

No, that wasn’t true. 

He was Vulcan. He never intended to present that he wasn’t, nor was he truly attempting to hide it. He had wanted to hide from those who knew him on Vulcan, but had never wanted to hide that he was Vulcan. And here, he was supposed to be a testament to Starfleet Academy’s diversity, which was woefully lacking compared to Starfleet itself. There was no need to blend in to keep from making other bar patrons uncomfortable with his presence. And it was true tending to his curls added extra steps and time to his routine every day -- they could be quite unruly. 

In truth, sometimes he didn’t recognize himself. He had, for so many years, only seen himself with the traditional Vulcan style, that it was difficult to see anything but a stranger wearing his face in the mirror when he saw himself with curls and cadet reds. Something simmered in his gut, a hunger for something he couldn’t recognize. 

What did he want to be? 

“Gaila,” he said with some hesitation at dinner once the ladies had lapsed into silence, “do you know anything about hair straightening treatments?” 

The slow grins that grew on their faces and the excited noise Gaila trilled made it difficult for him to second-guess his decision. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You ask too much of me,” Spock replied, and took a meditative breath to tamp down his irritation to consider later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said on tumblr but this chapter ended up being a bit longer than usual which is part of the reason it took so long. We're getting very close to the action now. I hope you guys aren't too bored. I honestly hadn't meant to have this many chapters of Spock character study but it just kept happening every time I opened it up. I swear I have a plot!! And it's coming right around the corner!! (Literally next chapter it starts lol) 
> 
> Anyway, I hope yall enjoy this one and don't get TOO mad at me for the cliffhanger at the end (but a little rage is okay lol) 
> 
> I love you all and I'll (hopefully) see you guys next week! Thanks for your patience with me, school and work are kicking my ass.

Spock’s first semester at the Academy, shortened as it was by starting late, passed rapidly and with little of note. His classes were fascinating, his professors were knowledgeable, and his peers stayed mostly out of his way. The beginning of winter came with the start of his second semester, with both Phil and Dr McCoy approving him to take a full course load, along with a great deal of cold rain and many complaints from the Humans about the lack of snow in San Francisco. Gaila only complained about how the rain made her hair frizzy. 

In between advanced astrophysics, command codes of conduct, xenozoology, xenosociology, warp theory, marine science fundamentals, piloting, extraneous training modules and simulations, reinstituting a rigorous meditation schedule for himself, and his sessions with Phil, he found time to do little recreationally. Intellectually, he was quite satisfied. His schoolwork kept him busy and stimulated, and he found himself wanting very little. 

Still, Phil encouraged (pestered) him into finding opportunities to be social with his peers, and McCoy mentioned it as well during his check-up, so when Gaila and Nyota began to mention their respective clubs, he found time to attend with them. 

Gaila found much joy in dragging him (an illogical phrase, as she didn’t drag him anywhere and he attended quite willingly) to the Extraterrestrials Club -- when he first heard about it, the name amused him. It was intended to be a safe space to discuss the more difficult aspects of being a non-Human in Starfleet Academy. 

It was unfortunately small. 

There, in addition to Gaila and himself, was a Tellarite called Illak, three Andorians, Helev, Garthil, and Namuh, an Aenar, Thurir, a joined Trill, Kalia Rew, a Betazoid who only introduced herself as Katherine, and, surprisingly, a young Human. Pavel Chekov was 15 and from Russia, in his second year at the Academy, and had apparently been dragged to the club by Gaila his second semester when they had both been enrolled in a technical engineering class. Gaila said he was allowed because he was also an outcast due to his age, but Namuh whispered to him it was because no one wanted to go against Gaila, and once they had met Pavel they didn’t want to upset him by kicking him out. Spock felt an unusual kinship for Pavel, who was also double classing in command and engineering, with a focuses in navigation and warp theory. He was a singular mind with a genius comprehension of mathematics and spatial awareness. 

“And his accent is just adorable!” Gaila had squealed as she introduced them; Pavel blushed a bright red and muttered something in Russian that could have been thanks or a curse. 

The Extraterrestrials Club turned out to mainly be 30 minutes to an hour a week where they complained about Humanity in general or specific Humans who had wronged them, or asked questions about their classes that they couldn’t find the answers to. Spock, while he didn’t participate in the complaints himself, did find them quite amusing, and was content to sit there and listen to the others rant angrily about Humanity as he did his work, each rant inevitably ending with a “But not you, Pavel,” that always made him have to suppress a smile. 

It was a sort of kinship he had never had before, the kind borne of loneliness; they each had different cultures, different ways of seeing the world, different upbringings, but the one thing they had in common was Starfleet, their desire to go out and  _ know _ things, and they were all isolated in a world and community that didn’t quite understand them. For the first time, Spock realized he was not alone in his feelings. Being surrounded by others but separate was apparently a galaxy-wide experience, and although they couldn’t minimize the culture shock of living among Humans and away from everything they had ever known, they could at least find others who related, even if they could not completely mitigate the feeling of isolation. 

In contrast, Nyota took him to the Linguistics Club, which turned out to be less of a social and more of an academic engagement. It had significantly more attendance than the Extraterrestrials, although Spock noticed not everyone who was part of the club attended every meeting. Some meetings were filled with informal lectures by various club members about topics of interest to them relating to linguistics, some with short films in various languages, and others just with studying and language practice. Several times Spock found himself helping his peers with their Vulcan pronunciation, which was sadly atrocious due to not having a Vulcan professor on campus. Nyota seemed to find it amusing. 

“They’ve got crushes on you,” she laughed one day as they were walking home from the meeting, bumping his shoulder with hers. 

“Crushes?” he asked, unfamiliar with the concept. “How can they possess an action? They certainly have not crushed me.” She only laughed harder and didn’t explain, leaving him puzzled. 

Phil seemed pleased at the progress, but not as much as Spock had hoped, leaving him with an illogical sensation of loss and frustrated confusion. “You’re socializing, sure, but it’s not recreational for you,” Phil told him. 

“I am satisfied,” he replied, disgruntled, and folded his hands together in his lap. Phil’s gaze flicked down to them; Spock knew Phil took such an act as an indication he was closing off, even though he never intended it that way. 

“I’m sure you are,” Phil said. “And I think you’ve made good progress. But it feels like you’re trying to fit in more than doing things which you enjoy. I’d like you to find a club, and attend just once, that interests you beyond the fact that your friends attend it and wanted you to go. Even Vulcans participate in recreational activities.”

“You ask too much of me,” Spock replied, and took a meditative breath to tamp down his irritation to consider later. 

It was a strange balance he was having to find between feeling his emotions and not letting them control them. He knew, of course, why Vulcans kept such tight control on their emotions. Vulcan emotions were violent, unpredictable, much stronger than Human emotions, and with their telepathy, unchecked emotions could spread rapidly through the populations like an epidemic -- or they used to be able to, before Surak instituted the tenents of privacy, suppression, and logic. He knew that most Vulcans, although they wouldn’t acknowledge it, truly did feel emotions, even if they didn’t let them show or let them control them. Meditation was meant to understand emotion and to assess logic, not to rid oneself of emotion completely. It was impossible to completely get rid of or control emotion. 

Which made it all the more concerning, he realized, when during his pre-teen and teenage years he had worked so tirelessly to completely rid himself of emotion that he had become, while an admittedly perfect example of Vulcanism which he had illogically taken pride in when he could feel such things, also quite thoroughly numb emotionally, reacting to things only by rote and logic. He knew it was because of the scrutiny he was constantly under, knew it was triggered by his father’s final scolding and disappointment after he had broken Stonn’s nose, and could now admit it was as unhealthy as his recent swing to overt and violent emotionalism was. He could recognize that, in attempting to get in touch with his Human side, he had swung too far in the other direction and had allowed his emotions to dictate and control him in a way which was highly detrimental to his overall wellbeing. He knew he could owe these realizations to Phil and extensive meditation, even if it was discomforting to admit. 

But finding the balance between satisfying his Human need for emotional expression and his Vulcan need for logic and repression was frustratingly difficult, and it left him swinging like a pendulum between the two extremes day to day, sometimes finding comfort in Vulcan coldness and other times in Human warmth. He knew it left Nyota and Gaila confused, his apparent boundaries an ever shifting target even he couldn’t quite keep up with, and it left him more frustrated than he had ever been in his life, when he allowed himself to muse on it. Why had his parents decided to bring such a torn being into this world in the first place? 

_ We loved you, _ the ghost of Amanda whispered in his mind sometimes in answer to that question. He ruthlessly pushed it away so he didn’t have to consider the implications of it, so he didn’t have to think too long about his dreams and how, if he was a proper Vulcan or a proper Human, he would know how to stop them, or at least act rationally enough to tell Dr McCoy and Phil about them. 

“I know,” Phil replied with a wry smile. “But maybe you ask too much of yourself, too.” Spock felt his lips twitch in a frown, pressing his fingers together tightly before forcing himself to relax. 

And so the next week, after combing over the exceptionally long list of Academy clubs for several hours, found Spock heading to the room where the Chess Club met rather late in the evening, having bid Gaila and Nyota goodbye after dinner. 

Chess wasn’t a traditionally Vulcan activity. His mother had apparently taught his father while they were courting, saying it was a logical Terran game, and although his father had never taken to it, Spock knew Sarek considered it with some nostalgia. When Spock was very young, before his father had become increasingly closed off and disappointed in him, he had taught him the game, claiming that it was an exercise in the Human tradition of ‘keeping a deceased loved one’s memory alive, even if that is illogical’. He had told him Amanda would have appreciated teaching him and playing with him. Spock had taken to the game more than his father ever had, finding the exercise of logic and strategy often more calming than meditation. 

He hadn’t had opportunity to play in the past several years, not only because few Vulcans knew the game, and he was illogically looking forward to the opportunity. When he was younger, he had quickly reached the point where he could consistently beat his father -- something he knew had irritated Sarek, especially as it became clear Spock struggled more than his peers to grasp logic and meditation. There was no other area in which he could beat his father, even though he excelled in many activities by virtue of practicing to the point of detriment to his health. 

He wasn’t expecting to encounter Commander Kirk and Captain Pike loitering outside of the room, talking to each other lowly. His ears twitched and he forced himself not to listen in on their conversation, allowing the words to become a soft buzz in his mind rather than process them. 

“Good evening, sirs,” he said calmly to announce his presence to them, and they both turned, smiling at him. 

“Cadet,” Pike said with a respectful nod.

“Spock!” Kirk said with far more enthusiasm, grinning at him. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Indeed,” he replied, raising an eyebrow. “I have been... challenged, I believe is an appropriate word, to attend a club of my choice. I was informed this is the room where the Chess Club meets.” Pike chuckled softly while Kirk, if it was possible, grinned even wider. 

“You’re at the right place!” he said happily. “We were just about to go in. I’m the staff sponsor this year, actually. Chris is only here because I drag him out every once in awhile to play against me.” 

“Indeed?” Spock said once more, lips twitching slightly at Kirk’s clear joy at seeing him. “Perhaps we can play a game, Commander.”

“It’s Jim, please, I’m considering myself off duty.” Spock saw Pike roll his eyes at the statement, although he could not decipher exactly why. “And I’d love to play a game with you. Most of the club won’t play with me anymore.”

“Only because they can’t keep up with you,” Pike said with amusement. Kirk smiled sheepishly and shrugged. 

“The only way to improve is to play against those you can’t beat.” 

“Logical,” Spock said. “However, it has been quite some time since I have lost a game. I was once classed by the computer as a tri-D grandmaster.” Kirk laughed, a sound full of joy and amusement, and Spock was glad he could pull such sounds from Humans, although he was not exactly sure what he had said that was amusing. 

“You’re on,” Kirk told him, gesturing to the door. “After you.” 

He was surprised when Captain Pike took a seat next to him while Kirk stood at the front of the room to start the meeting. The Chess Club was larger in size than the Extraterrestrials Club, but significantly smaller than the Linguistics Club, and the students seemed quiet. Spock couldn’t determine whether it was from the lateness of the hour, deference to the games which had already started, or for some other reason, but he found himself content in the quiet, the low voices providing a gentle background which was quite soothing to him. In many ways, it reminded him of his time in primary school, alone in his learning dome as he took in the wonders of the universe. 

“You look better,” Pike mused softly, staring at him, and Spock turned away from the few announcements Kirk was making to blink at him. 

“Indeed?”

“Yeah,” Pike said with a soft smile, clearly amused. “I apologize if this comes off as xenophobic, but you seem... settled. More at ease with yourself.” The captain pursed his lips, considering, and Spock took a breath to calm himself, reminding himself not to pass judgement or become offended where no offense was intended. “You look content. Calmer.” 

“I see,” Spock replied, and found there was nothing he could take offense to. “I am unsure of the proper response to such a statement, sir.” Pike chuckled again. 

“No response necessary. I’m just glad to see it. You’ve got a lot of promise, son.” 

Spock pursed his lips, unsure how to interpret Pike’s words, but gave a nod of understanding anyway, looking up as Kirk approached them with a tri-D chess board. “Are you just going to watch today?” Kirk asked as he set up the board, Spock reaching over to assist. 

“You know me, Jim, I don’t want to scare the cadets  _ too _ badly.” Kirk laughed. 

“Afraid they won’t respect you when they whoop your ass at chess, Captain?” he teased, and Pike shook his head, clearly repressing his own laugh. 

“If Spock wasn’t about to whoop  _ your _ ass, Commander, I’d show you how a real chess master does it.” Jim laughed again. 

“You can never beat me, Chris!” 

Overall, Spock found Chess Club to be far more his taste than either Extraterrestrials or Linguistics Club, finding a highly satisfying kinship and contentment there as he listened to Kirk and Pike quitely tease each other, even if he and Kirk did play far longer than the club was supposed to run, and even if he did, illogically, lose the game in the end. “Fascinating,” he had muttered, considering Kirk’s playing method in his mind. “Your moves are highly illogical.” Kirk grinned at him while Pike laughed, suddenly loud in the relative silence of the now mostly-empty classroom. 

“It looks like you need some more practice, Cadet,” Kirk said in that same teasing tone. “Can I expect you back next week?” Spock looked up from the board, taking in the Human’s grin and his expectant eyes, and found himself nodding. 

“Indeed.” 

“Great,” Dr McCoy grumbled, standing and stretching from his desk in the back of the room where he had been doing something on his PADD, frowning tiredly at Kirk. He had entered the room about half an hour ago to fetch Kirk, and Spock had found it necessary to suppress his gratification that Kirk had waved him off to finish their highly scintillating game. “Can we go home now?” Kirk rolled his eyes indulgently but nodded, standing himself and going over to press a kiss to McCoy’s cheek. 

Some longing emotion filled Spock’s chest at the display, and he violently suppressed it, turning away to occupy his hands with packing up the chess board. 

And so Spock’s life continued for several weeks, teaching his fellow peers how to pronounce Vulcan, dining with Gaila and Nyota and sometimes Pavel, listening to the non-Humans complain about Humanity, and being beaten at chess by Commander Kirk until Dr McCoy fetched him at the end of the night. A kind of contented peace settled over him that he had seldom experienced before, and even if he did sometimes feel overwhelmed at the level of work he had to complete some evenings, he found himself quite satisfied and overall happy. As the days went by he even managed to stop expecting trouble, managed to make himself leave his knife safely in a drawer in his dresser, managed to feel more and more like the well-adjusted Vulcan he had always quietly hoped to be. 

It only took one instant for his peace to shatter. 

He and Gaila were walking to lunch after he fetched her from one of her classes. It was a cold Tuesday, cold enough that he had his hands encased in gloves and a garishly red, although warm, hat covering his head and ears which the Orion had gifted him. It was only because campus was so cold, discouraging his peers from lingering outside for long, that he saw him as quickly as he did, walking towards them with a brisk pace and a characteristic grace. 

The word fell from his lips before he could consider it closer, pausing in his tracks with a suppressed shiver that had little to do with the cold. 

“Father?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you thought!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I am not,” he said back, and wanted to be angry, wanted to feel anything at all about the situation, anything other than tired. “And I am not Human, either, that much is clear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this a bit early because im SO EXCITED about this chapter and I want to see what you guys think about it. It came really easy. Next chapter I'm also very excited about. We're finally getting into the meat of it bois!! 
> 
> Note that I might be doing some minor editing to the early chapters and tags to keep it in line with the quality and direction of the story as it stands now, but I'll let you guys know if/when I do that. Tags have been updated accordingly as of this chapter but they will still be changing. 
> 
> Also note that while I am still going to be writing this fic from Spock's (unreliable) perspective, I've become really fascinated with the characters moving around him as well at this point, so there are going to be some chapters (including the next one!) from other perspectives giving a story we can assume is way more trustworthy than Spock's. If that's a bit confusing to you (lol) feel free to message me here or on tumblr and I'll always answer questions!! 
> 
> Until next week, love u all, Talon <3

“Father?” Gaila repeated, also stopped next to him. “That’s your dad?” Spock only swallowed thickly against the pulsing emotions that had suddenly begun to swirl inside him, trying to force them down into calm, the edges of his mind flaying against themselves. 

It had been years since he had seen Sarek. Three years, 5 months, and 11 days to be precise. 

He raised the ta’al in respect as Sarek approached, back tensed and straight, and he felt like a child suddenly, like he had lost track of time playing kal-toh and his father was here to drag him back home for dinner. Sarek’s gaze flicked over his appearance, Human but neat, and did not return the gesture. 

“Ambassador,” Spock said, voice stiff and emotionless, when Sarek had stopped in front of them. Gaila was tense beside him by virtue of seeing his own unease, shifting uncomfortably. Sarek didn’t acknowledge him, almost like he couldn’t settle on how to address him and so decided to forgo it completely. In return, Spock did not offer him his name.

“This is fortunate,” Sarek said instead, clasping his hands behind him, a behavior Spock knew he had picked up from him and had to stop himself from repeating. “I was just heading to inquire of your whereabouts.” 

“Indeed?” Spock replied, a question and a statement, and almost hated how much like his father he sounded before he tamped the feeling down with an even breath and forced himself not to feel. There was no use in emotions here. 

“Vulcan has been made aware of your admission into Starfleet.” 

Vulcan had been made aware, he said. Obviously Starfleet had contacted Vulcan in some capacity to transfer his records. Logically, Sarek had been contacted directly, as he was the most efficient contact point to transfer Spock’s documents. But Vulcan had been made aware of Spock’s transgression, not his father. He remained quiet, giving a slight nod in acknowledgement. 

“As the first Vulcan to attend the Academy, it was logical to ensure you are being treated fairly and with the dignity all beings deserve,” Sarek continued, and Spock was sharply reminded that despite everything, this was still his father, the man who had raised him and knew far more about him than anyone else in the universe. Any other Vulcan would have slid in a subtle insult to his heritage, or perhaps denounced his Vulcanness completely. As it was, the pang of longing warmth that filled him was short lived as Sarek continued to speak. “As I was at the embassy already, it was logical for me to seek you out, as in addition it is prudent to speak with you about your clan links.” 

Something cold dribbled down his spine, like when icy rain blew under the collar of his jacket to wet his shirt. He was surprised, honestly, that it hadn’t come to this sooner. Perhaps the only reason it hadn’t was because Sarek didn’t want to shame himself by going through the effort to find him in the city. Physical sensations aside, he was quite thoroughly numb, examining his father with a clinical gaze as he would a particularly uninteresting experiment. He made no effort to rectify that situation. 

“My treatment has been adequate,” he answered the unspoken question, voice even and cold. “My clan links are of no concern. There are no telepathic bonds to break. Should my clan decide to disown and exile me, that is their right. Should they do so, however, I shall be keeping the clan name, unless they wish to face me in court for a legitimate charge which I am unaware of.” Spock could see the twitch of agitation in Sarek’s eyes before it smoothed over. He was well acquainted with that agitation. His father glanced at Gaila, no judgement in his gaze but a clear hesitation. 

“May I speak with you privately on these matters, Cadet?” 

“No,” he replied, at the same moment Gaila crossed her arms and spat “Absolutely not.” Sarek’s brow raised, a mild indication of surprise and discontent. 

“I have nothing more I wish to say,” he clarified, finally giving in and tucking his arms behind his back. Sarek turned his eyes to Gaila, taking her in evenly. “Ambassador, this is Cadet Gaila Vro of Orion. Gaila,” he said, and didn’t regret the familiarity in using her first name, “this is Ambassador S’chn T’gai Sarek of Vulcan.” 

“Live long and prosper,” Sarek said to Gaila, a pleasantry Spock hadn’t gotten. He glanced between them. “May I inquire as to the nature of your relationship?”

“You may not,” Spock replied, and knew it was perfectly acceptable. Relationships were private matters, whether they were between friends, family, or lovers. It was never illogical to deny unnecessary prying into private matters. Sarek gave a slight nod of his assent. 

“Then,” he said, looking at Gaila, “I shall inquire as to the nature of your denial of my request to speak with my son privately.” Gaila gave a sharp, mean laugh at that, shifting forward in a subtle, but noted, step. “I fail to see what is amusing.” 

“The fact that you finally deigned to call him son to try and get me to sympathize and do what you want,” Gaila replied, tone full of rage and venom. Sarek blinked at her mildly, an expression of surprise, and Spock refrained from reaching out to restrain his friend as he usually would, acutely aware of the scrutiny he was under. “You didn’t greet him, formally or otherwise. You expressed no familiarity. You didn’t give him a mind-touch as is customary between relatives who haven’t seen each other for an extended period. You didn’t give him your name, or even your role as father. You didn’t allow him any of the acceptable touches between family members. You aren’t even allowing him the dignity to speak with him in your native language. And I know for a fact,” she spat, lips twisted up to bare her teeth -- not like a smile, this was a symbol of aggression for Orions, “that you drove him first out of his home and then off of his planet entirely.” Spock knew her use of possessives was intentional, and wasn’t sure how to feel about it, so he felt nothing instead, watching his friend rail against his own father mildly. “Your actions are both illogical and shameful, and I will not beg forgiveness for the fact that _I don’t trust you with him._ So no. You are not allowed to speak with him privately, especially because you just tried to convince me you still think about him as a son when you just spoke of cutting his ties to the family.” 

Another blink from Sarek; more surprise. The nuances of Vulcan culture were, more often than not, lost on outsiders, especially ones with highly emotional societies like Orions and Humans.

“Cadet Vro takes interest in other cultures and diplomacy,” Spock informed him, which was true even if Gaila thought she was a rather poor diplomat and never expected to leave the engine room of whatever ship she was stationed on, not allowing the pride he felt in her to lace his voice. “She was a quick study of Vulcan culture.” 

“Indeed,” Sarek replied, not an agreement or a question, just a filler as he gathered his thoughts to reply to the attack. “Thorough as well, apparently.”

“I had a good teacher,” Gaila said with heat, still glaring. Sarek let out a breath through his nose -- more agitation. 

“Very well,” he said diplomatically after a beat. “As you are being held hostage to Orion whim-” 

“No,” he interrupted coldly as Gaila tensed further, shock in her eyes, not allowing the microaggression to continue. He stepped forward, pressing further into Sarek’s space than was respectful. “You shall not speak in that manner in front of me.” Sarek’s eyes narrowed in challenge at the disrespect. “You are an ambassador,” he said, and allowed some of his anger to turn it into a hiss. “Such disrespect is illogical and shameful. Gaila Vro is a Federation citizen and shall be treated with the due respect and dignity of all beings if you wish to remain in our presence, Father.” Nyota had once told him that he managed to make every title sound like an insult, and he hoped that held true this time as well. Sarek’s nostrils flared in agitated breath again. Neither one of them broke their gaze, a contest of wills and logic.

“The High Council is in serious consideration of revoking your citizenship,” Sarek said sharply, taking in his instantaneous shock coldly. Spock stepped back, putting distance between them, distance between himself and the harsh truth Sarek revealed with no warning. 

“They cannot,” he insisted, his denial just as sharp, ringing in his head. “There is no reason or precedent.”

“There is reason,” Sarek replied. “And there has never been precedent for you.” 

“What is their logic?” he asked, head ringing with too many thoughts. 

“That you have renounced your Vulcan citizenship yourself by fleeing without warning and joining a mainly Terran organization of violence.” He took in an unsteady breath to try and calm himself. The cold air burned his lungs. 

“There are Terrans who hold Vulcan citizenship.”

“You are not Terran.” 

“Why does this matter?” Gaila asked quietly, touching his arm softly. He could not feel her concern through the layers of their clothes, but he could see it on her face. He clenched his jaw momentarily. 

“I possess no other citizenship.” 

“But you’re half-Human.”

“Born on Vulcan, through Vulcan machinations. Due to the nature of my birth, I was not automatically granted Terran citizenship. It is likely I could acquire it should I request it, however I have never requested it.”

“This is why I must speak with you about the clan links,” Sarek interrupted, once again under control. “You have none.”

“I am aware,” Spock replied dryly, the frayed edges of his mind pulsing angrily at the reminder. 

“It is another point against you.” He took another meditative breath to quell the sudden frustration that boiled in his stomach, settling it into calm nothingness. 

“We were informed I could not form bonds.” Sarek was quiet momentarily, enough of a hesitation for Spock to feel that coldness on his spine once more. 

“I believe we were misinformed.” 

There was tense silence. It was as much of an apology as Spock thought he would ever be offered, an acknowledgement that in some aspects, Sarek was wrong. He didn’t know if he could accept it. 

“What do you desire I do about it?” Spock asked, numb once more to anything but the feeling of the cold breeze on his face, deliberately using the emotional word. 

“It is logical we assess for ourselves if we were misinformed.” 

“You wish to form a family link with me,” he interpreted, and Sarek gave a small nod. “After 22 years, you wish to form a bond with your son,” he repeated, and knew he should be angry, knew he should be devastated, or something other than simply inconvenienced. 

“It will stall the decision of the Council, at least long enough for you to request Terran citizenship, if you are able to establish familial links,” Sarek confirmed, not actually answering his question in the slightest. 

“I do not desire a link with you, and I do not desire a link with Vulcan,” he said, and he knew it would be taken as another fit of Human fancy, a plague of emotion he had not tamed with logic. Emotion had nothing to do with the decision. He felt nothing at the suggestion, even though it had been one of the things he had desired all of his life. “Vulcan does not desire me, either.”

“You are Vulcan,” Sarek said. 

“I am not,” he said back, and wanted to be angry, _wanted_ to feel anything at all about the situation, anything other than tired. “And I am not Human, either, that much is clear.” He shrugged off Gaila’s hand when it landed on his arm, watching as Sarek’s jaw tensed with some emotion he couldn’t interpret. 

“You are my son,” Sarek said, much softer than anything else he had said. Spock looked at him. A moment passed, then two. 

“Ambassador Sarek has no son,” he replied, and did not soften his voice. It was a statement he had heard over and over throughout the city the last three years, and finally he realized what it meant. “And I have no father. If it means so much to the Ambassador that I retain my citizenship, I shall allow T’Pau to touch my mind. But only she. If the Ambassador cannot secure the clan matriarch in defending my right to Vulcan citizenship, then the matter is settled.” 

It wasn’t an unreasonable request. His great-grandmother T’Pau, for reasons Spock couldn’t fathom, had a fondness for him. Sarek might be able to convince her to agree to form a familial bond with him, but it wasn’t a guarantee. 

Sarek was silent for a moment, eyes cold and unreadable. “Meditate on the matter,” he ordered. “I shall be in touch.” He hesitated, as if deciding whether to reach out and touch him or not, and Spock stepped back, raising the ta’al blankly. Sarek nodded, responding in kind before turning and bustling back off into the cold. 

“Spock,” Gaila said softly, but didn’t reach for him again. He ignored her. His hunger had turned to stone in his gut. He turned around, heading back towards his dorm. He had never before cut class, but today he thought the cause might be sufficient. “Spock,” Gaila repeated, louder, as she followed him, and upon his second ignorance, didn’t try again, but also didn’t cease following. 

His room was warm, but he still felt cold as he took his PADD out of his backpack and sat on his bed. Gaila pressed against his side and he didn’t deny her, wondering if it was for his comfort or her own. He had hacked into these files weeks before in a fit of emotion, had saved them and never deleted them. If he was ever caught with them, he might be thrown out. But the file was old, over five years old now, and it was of no importance. In the next two years it would be deleted anyway with server maintenance. It was unlikely anyone would ever discover or care about his tampering. 

He opened the audiofile. His own shaky breathing as he tried to suppress the fact he was crying filled his ears, and he felt Gaila’s gaze on the side of his face. 

_“You’ve reached Station 54.”_

_“... I request communication with Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan.”_

_“Reason?”_

_“I am his son.”_

_“... I see. I can’t put you through, unfortunately. Even if I could prove your identity, he’s out of comm transmission right now.”_

_“Ah. ... Then I request a Federation ambassador or perhaps a Starfleet officer be sent to my location.”_

_“Why?”_

_“... I am... being tortured.”_

_“Riiight. I know it’s boring up here, but prank calls aren’t tolerated, Ensign. I’ll be talking to your supervisor about this once I get this traced. Consider yourself on report.”_

The file ended. Tears were making his cheeks finally feel warm again as Gaila plucked the PADD from his hand and tossed it somewhere on the floor, wrapping herself around him as a wrenching sob escaped his chest; and still, he felt nothing but tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who got really mad and demanded Sarek not fuck him up more.... uh... sorry? ovo (not really lmao) 
> 
> Let me know what you thought!!


End file.
